A Little Drop of Healing
by Kari Kurofai
Summary: It was America's fault Kiku was injured So badly. So of course, he should be the one to bring him back to health. Focus on the end of WW2 and The Cold War. Alfred/Kiku, Francis/Arthur, Onesided Alfred/Arthur, Ludwig/Feliciano, HRE/Italy, Ivan/Yao.
1. Chapter 1

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Bloodied Hands**

"I don't understand . . ."

It was the third time he'd said it in the last few minutes. His blue eyes were narrowed in confusion beneath his glasses, and an unsteady hand made it's way slowly through the edges of his dirty-blond hair. The first time, he hadn't really been paying attention, which wasn't that surprising. The second time, he listened, but it didn't make sense. And this time, he just couldn't comprehend it. Couldn't wrap his mind around the idea.

"Alfred!" his boss exclaimed in exasperation, "How much clearer can I make it? If you don't do as I ask- We. Will. Lose. This. War." Each word was emphasized with a sharp rap on the desk.

Lose. That was a word that hit him, and hit him hard. He didn't want to lose, he hated the very thought. He hadn't lost to England. He hadn't lost the war within himself. Not exactly. And he hadn't lost to Germany in the first great war. He couldn't lose, wouldn't lose.

And yet . . .

What his boss was saying . . . He hadn't thought bringing those scientists back from Germany, that it would come to this. Never this. "Is . . . Is this really the only way? I mean . . . to . . . Kiku? Of all people? Wouldn't using it on Germany be-"

"It wouldn't," Truman muttered quietly. "We haven't gotten all of our men out of there, and the Jews . . . It wouldn't pick and choose it's victims, Alfred." He raised a hand before the blond could speak, silencing him with a simple wave. "And did you consider the fact that France and England are practically right next door? Francis has already been injured, and Arthur's practically on his knees from this war. All those bombings. . . It's too powerful, too unstable to use in a nation nearly surrounded by other nations."

America's eyes widened. If he used it on Germany . . . Arthur could . . . No, no matter how much he said he hated him, he didn't want that. Arthur, no matter their rivalries in the past, had raised him, carried him when he was tired, held his hand when he was scared. He wouldn't risk it. And Francis . . . Well, they made a good tag-team when it came to torturing Arthur, so he didn't mind his lecherous company _that _much. No, somehow, it came down to the fact that Kiku was the only choice. If they were to win, then it had to be done.

Slowly, he held out his hand, closing his eyes as Truman placed the gun against his palm. "There are two shots in here, make sure you don't miss. And it isn't necessary to kill him either. Just shoot the places I told you to, nothing more." The instructions were simple.

And yet . . . Why was his hand shaking so bad as he closed it around the gun? Why couldn't he swallow the lump of fear in his throat? It was wrong, everything in his mind screamed at him that this was wrong. America didn't fight like this, this was German tactics, this was-

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you of that scar down on your hip, do I Alfred?" Truman hissed, noticing the look on his country's face.

Alfred's hand automatically flew down to his right hip, touching the still healing scar hidden beneath his pilot jacket. It stung, and it still burned when he touched it. Burned with the bullet that had hit it, the fire of the pain that had brought him into this war in the first place. No he hadn't forgotten. And he never would. Not when it had been so uncalled for, so unprepared for. He had wanted nothing to do with this war, and on December 7th, Kiku had been the one to force him into it.

"No," he whispered finally, moving his hand away from the spot. "I don't need reminding of my own wounds. I'll do as you say."

"Good," his boss nodded towards the door, a cue for him to leave. "And Alfred, make sure you don't miss."

"Ludwig, Ludwig!" Italy called, pulling insistently on Germany's sleeve, "can't we all just go out to lunch today? It's such a nice day outside, right? And we can have pasta, and wurst and some of those yummy rice-things Kiku likes and-"

Germany covered his ally's mouth with his free hand, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Is food all you ever think about? We only just ate! And Kiku's a bit busy today as far as I know. At least, he's supposed to be busy. But since when did either of you listen to me?" "I'm listening to you right now Doitsu!" Italy chimed in, "so let's gooooo . . . Go and eat with Kiku . . ." he whined, pulling insistently at his friend's sleeve.

It was simple, it was easy, like pulling the trigger on a gun. Literally. Japan had looked so strangely surprised when Alfred had appeared in his living room. He shouldn't have been surprised at all, not after he himself had snuck up on America nearly four years ago. He'd turned around, startled, afraid as he realized what was in the gun Alfred held. The same weapon he'd seen them testing on those islands. And now it was pointed right at him.

And Alfred only thought of the scar as he squeezed the trigger the first time, and squeezed his eyes shut to match.

Kiku's white military uniform blossomed with a large crimson flower as he fell, the bullet hitting it's mark in his lower chest. But he said nothing, and made no sound. A samurai shouldn't show weakness, and should above all, never surrender. Crying out would be the same as a forfeit in this.

But Alfred made the mistake of opening his eyes, taking two steps back as he realized what he'd done. He'd _never_ injured someone like this before. Not England, not Germany, not anyone. And now, Kiku was lying at his feet, his blood pooling out beneath him, and his dark eyes narrowed in pain and fury as he returned his gaze.

Two shots. No matter what, he was supposed to shoot twice. And he couldn't close his eyes as he raised the gun a second time, aiming for Kiku's stomach. Two shots. Two shots. It had to be two, that was the order. He must follow orders . . . Must . . .

Kiku screamed as the second burst hit him, unable to hold back the cry. It hurt, it hurt so bad. A thousand times worse than a normal bullet. And there was so much blood. He could see it on his chest, on his hands as he touched the wounds in his shock, and on the front of America's cloths, splattered across the front like dark paint. And the bleeding, it wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop?

And Alfred stood there, staring down at what he'd done, backing slowly away, blinking fiercely as if with each blink, he could make the sight vanish. He dropped the gun, turning and racing out the door.

"Kiku! We've come for lunch!" Feliciano called cheerfully as he ran into the already open door. "We brought pas-" his words were cut short as Germany tugged him backwards.

"This door, you didn't open it did you," Ludwig hissed, his eyes narrowed as his mind whirled with reason's Japan's door would be wide open, pushing Italy behind him, sidestepping into the house. He could tell immediately that someone had been in here. There were scuff marks on the floor, made by shoes. You didn't wear shoes in Japan's house. And he could already taste that all too familiar tang in his mouth, long before he smelled it. The iron and the salt of blood.

Italy screamed as he saw the bloodstained room, pushing past Ludwig against the older man's protests. He pressed his hands against the wounds, sobbing and shaking his head back and forth. "No, no, no . . . Not you too. Don't die Kiku, we're family now, you can't die! I can't . . ."

Japan's eyes were glazed, and he wrapped his hands around Italy's as if to help him stop the flow of blood. "It was my fault . . ." he whispered. "I scarred him, it was revenge . . . My fault . . ."

Ludwig's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Alfred did this? Of all the Allied Powers, that hamburger eating nincompoop? I'll kill that fucker, I'll-"

"No . . . I'm done . . ." Nihon silenced him with a hard stare, "I'm done with this war, Ludwig. And if you know what's good for you, you will be too . . ."

Italy pushed a hand over Kiku's mouth, "No more talking! We have to get you some help, or you'll die Kiku!"

"I'm done . . . I'm done . . ." The dark haired man murmured beneath his friend's hand. "No more of this war . . ."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

*Erhem* Marukaite chikyuu, ore America! = 3= I finally started it, after a mass wrap up of most of my other ongoing fics so I'd have time to work on this. Thank god I'm good at history tho . . . Gah. D: This is Axis Powers Hetalia after all. And I wanted to write about the one thing that bugs me in the series. The fact that besides the Revolutionary War, nothing serious is ever discussed. Most importantly, America's use of the Atomic bombs on Japan, which will be the focus of this fic.

Yes, Truman was the president that gave the order to drop the bombs during this time period. I used a gun, because Alfred obviously had to fire it. And a scar on his left hip for Pearl Harbor, though when thinking about America geo-graphically, it's probably be on his left foot. :P but if Texas is in his glasses, then Hawaii can be on his hip, so there.

I also used all the countries different names, unfortunately for u cofused fans. Lol. But here is a guide in case u were veeeerrrrryyy confused.

Italy- Feliciano (his human name)

Germany - Ludwig (his human name), Doitsu (Germany in Japanese)

Japan - Kiku (his human name), Nihon (Japan in Japanese)

America - Alfred (his human name)

England - Arthur (his human name)

France - Francis (his human name)

Sorries if u were confused, but this is how I've known them for the past few months, so I skip around on the names in my head. Gomen. And I think it sounds cooler too. *pouts* this, by the way, will be a Hetalia Yaoi fic, do not like, do not read. (M rated too if I can pull it off. :D)


	2. Chapter 2

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Victory and Guilt**

Alfred's eyes were glazed over as he made his way down the hall. He ran his fingers across the wall as he walked, tracing out invisible lines and swirls. And when his hand hit the wood of the door to the meeting room, he nearly passed it by. It took him a few moments to comprehend that as it was, and he merely stared at the polished wood for a moment in a daze.

"Alfred?" A curious voice called his name, making him turn.

A man that looked remarkably similar to him was standing just over his shoulder. Except for the slight curl to his hair, he could have been America's double. He smiled, tilting his head to the side, and squeezed the small white bear he held in his arms. "Alfred . . . Are we just going to stand outside the room today?" America forced a smile, shaking his head slowly at his brother, "No, sorry Mathew. I was just a little . . . Out of it."

Canada grinned, "Oh, okay then! I know how that is. I mean, one time, I was watching Kumajiro," he held out the polar-bear in front of him, looking into the fluffy creatures small round eyes, "and the next thing I knew, the whole weekend had passed!" He laughed, oblivious to the stare he received from his elder brother. "At least you didn't stare at the door for that long. Is a door even that interesting? I mean, Kumajiro is cute so it's easy to get lost in his cuteness and-"

Alfred clamped a hand over Mathew's mouth, "You talk _a lot_ when people pay attention to you, huh." He smiled again, this time, a little more genuine. "Well, let's go inside, shall we?"

"Yes!"

He hadn't expected to be hugged as soon as he answered the room. China whipped around as soon as he entered, flinging himself across the room at Alfred as he entered. "America! We won! We won, we won, we won, Aru!" He squished the younger man in a surprisingly powerful hug, ignoring the nasty glare he received from Arthur.

"Wha- what are you talking about?" Alfred stammered, trying in vain to detach the ecstatic man from around his waist. "Won? The war? How-"

As he finally pulled China free, Francis seemed to take the opportunity to launch himself over the table. "It's true it's true!" he squealed, glomping onto Alfred, "Germany just called, telling us how they all surrendered!"

Arthur stared up at the ceiling as he approached the group, "He said something about Japan being horribly injured. By you, Alfred. You've won us the war." England dropped to his knees, taking Alfred's hand in his own. "You . . . Won us the war . . ."

He'd never shown Alfred the scars and wounds that now littered his body from Germany's constant bombardment. And he truly never planned to. But now, now he didn't have to look over his shoulder everyday for Germany. Or fear waking up to find his clothes stained with blood from an attack in the night. It was over. It was finally over.

Francis leaned forwards in a rapid movement towards Alfred, taking his face between his hands as if to kiss him. Arthur's hand shot out, smacking the older man sharply. He hadn't noticed it before, but he did now. The way Alfred was shaking all over, and not just from an attempted grope from France.

"Alfred . . ." America clenched his hands against his sides, falling backwards against the wall, not even noticing as Arthur caught him as he slid down towards the floor. "What . . . What did they say about Kiku?" he whispered quietly.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and his characteristic eyebrows raised, "not much. Just that you hurt him."

"Hurt him pretty bad from what I saw," a voice cut in darkly.

Alfred raised blue eyes to gaze blankly across the room at the only person who had yet to join them in any sort of celebration. Russia stared calmly back, his lavender eyes narrowed and his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the opposite wall.

"He's practically right next door to me, Alfred," Ivan sneered, "I saw when Germany and Italy carried him away." His eyes narrowed dangerously further, "Did you choose Japan to show me that? To show me that you have no qualms about _killing_ a country?" "I didn't kill him," America cried out, shaking his head furiously.

"He might yet die!" Ivan retorted. "I. Saw. Everything. If that wasn't a show of power, I don't know what is. Because egotistical _America_ can do _anything_." He spat the last words out, and Alfred flinched.

No_, America could not do anything._

He hadn't been able to end this war without such drastic measures. Hadn't been able to realize that what Russia was saying was something his boss had planned out all along. Hadn't been able to protect _anyone_, and had hurt someone so severely, they might die. Those were the things he had done, and they were nothing. He sobbed, rubbing a hand across his eyes, "I didn't know . . . I didn't-"

"Liar!" Ivan burst out, "You can forget asking for my help again, America. I saw how you made those bombs. Saw how you tested them not far from _my_ coast. watch your back, from now on." "Get out," Arthur hissed suddenly, turning to glare at Russia, and pulling Alfred to his chest.

Ivan cocked his head, smirking darkly, "Oh, so you're siding with him. Tch. Typical." He whisked past them, his long scarf billowing out behind him, and slammed the door as he left.

France looked back and forth between the closed door and Arthur. Beside him, Wang-Yao merely stared at the closed door, looking thoroughly confused, casting sideways glances at Arthur as if he didn't know what to say. Francis turned towards Arthur fully, his eyebrows furrowed, "Is he . . . No longer our ally?"

"You can be his ally if you want," Arthur replied fiercely, "but I'm staying here." He turned back to where Alfred was curled into his protective embrace, his gaze softening slightly, "We didn't realize . . . How hard this would be on him . . ."

France gasped in mild surprise as Arthur hoisted Alfred up and into his arms, despite the younger man having outgrown him years ago. "You're going to carry him?" He asked, reaching out as if to help, "Will you be all right? Isn't he heavy?"

England smiled, "He's exhausted, and hurt. Just not in the literal sense. Of course I'm going to carry him. I carried him when he was small, I can carry him now." He made his way out of the room, France following, looking genuinely concerned, Mathew not that far behind.

China stared after them, looking down the hall where they walked, and then down the opposite direction where Ivan had gone. And again to where the Allies were, gasping slightly as a hand rested on his shoulder.

Ivan smiled slowly as China turned to face him, "So, are you coming, or not?" He took half a step back, holding out his hand towards the other.

China's eyes widened, and he grinned, "Yes," he whispered, taking the hand that was offered.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"He's worried himself so much over this that he's given himself a fever. Idiot," Arthur chided, laying damp cloth across Alfred's forehead as the other slept. "And Russia just sent him over the edge back there. Bastard."

Francis twiddled his thumbs, looking nervous as the name was brought up. "About that . . . What're we going to do? China . . . He went with Ivan . . ."

"And do you plan to go with him too" Arthur asked calmly, a hand on the bed America lay in, as if he could somehow shield him in case France turned sides.

"No!" Francis replied swiftly, waving his hands back and forth in front of his face. "I don't really have any particular opinion on this at all! I just . . ." he stared down at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, "If you're staying at America's side . . . Then I'll stay too . . ."

England raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing, and instead, turned to Canada. "And you?"

"Alfred is my brother," Mathew replied immediately, "I would _never _go to the other side." He squeezed Kumajiro, his eyes narrowed in determination.

"Good," England smiled, "Why don't you go back to the meeting room then and keep an eye on the phones in case the Axis Powers call again. And tell security to no longer allow Ivan and Yao on the premises. We don't want them coming back unexpectedly."

Mathew nodded, excited that people were finally noticing him. He stood up, saluting Arthur, "R-right! I'll do my best!" and hurried from the room.

Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling the day's events all crash down on him at once. He leaned back on his hands against the bed, watching with half lidded eyes, the rise and fall of the blankets as Alfred slept.

"You really love him, don't you," Francis cut in softly.

England turned towards him, blush spreading across his cheeks, "So what if I do?"

"It's an unrequited love," France pointed out.

"And what would you know about that, lech," Arthur snapped.

Francis lowered his gaze again, standing up suddenly, "well, a lot more than you ever noticed apparently!" He turned, storming towards the door, "I'm going to get some air."

"Good, do that," Arthur bit back.

The blond shook his head, closing the door sharply behind him. He leaned against the closed wooden frame, his head in his hands. "Damn it . . ."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Gah, I know I'm being historically accurate, but splitting up the allies made me sad!!! And now, all my good guys are blond. Wtf? So if I say "blonde man" u have noooo idea which one. D: Ivan . . . Come back! I will be one with Russia! Gyah!

But anywho . . . This will most definitely NOT be a USxUK fic. No. nuh uh. I do not support that pairing. Though this chapter does show a lot of it, but it's one sided. As in Arthur loves Alfred, but Alfred is like "deeeeehhhh . . ." in the brain. *heh* and Francis . . . Is much fun to work with. :3 he has a little unrequited love going on here too. :]

And the part with Ivan holding out his hand towards Aniki was my favorite so far. Ivvvaaaaannn . . . I hope he didn't seem to OOC, but he is secretly evil . . . = 3= it was only a matter of rime till he snapped. So it seems my two pairing fic is growing to four pairings plus one unrequited, never to be fulfilled fifth. Errr . . . . u =_= and btw, thankies for all the lovely reveiw! i've never gotten that many on jsut the first chapter so soon after posting! u guys are my crack. *luvs*

Oh yeah, and here's this chapter's character list, just a short add-on to last chapt.

Russia - Ivan (his human name)

China - Wang-Yao (his human name)


	3. Chapter 3

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Becoming Salvation**

Mathew nearly fell out of his chair as the phone rang. It had been three days since they'd asked him to stay in the meeting room, and it seemed that they may have forgotten him again. But he had Kumajiro for company, although the bear was sitting on the table staring off into space. Which wasn't very entertaining at all.

But as the phone rang, Canada scrambled to answer it. "H-hello?" he stammered into the receiver.

"America! The damn phone lines have been down all day! And now that I've finally go a hold of you, get your ass over here!" a loud voice demanded.

"Err . . . Germany?" Mathew asked, unsure of the voice's owner, since he'd never met the man. "Wait, I'm not America-"

"Don't give me crap bastard! You're voice is exactly the same!" Ludwig snarled.

"B-but I'm not! I'm Canada, his brother . . ." he stared at the floor, was it really _that_ hard for everyone to remember who he was? "I can go get him for you if you'd like."

"I would," Germany grunted, still sounding disbelieving. "And hurry up."

"Yes," Mathew sighed, getting up from his chair. "Please hold a moment."

He staggered down the hall with a sour look on his face. Maybe he should just tattoo his forehead with a giant maple leaf or something. Simply sticking one on there was no help at all. But that wouldn't help with his voice . . . Older brother or not, sometimes he really despised Alfred. Speaking of which, he was supposed to be fetching him, wasn't he. He sighed, rapping sharply on the door in front of him.

"Go awaaaaaayy . . ." a voice sang from inside the room, making Mathew raise an eyebrow.

"It's me, America. Germany's on the phone, says to hurry."

The door cracked open slowly, a narrowed blue eye staring out, "Arthur's not around is he?"

"No . . ."

The door swung all the way open, and Alfred stood there, donned in his pilot jacket with his hands on his hips, looking very much like he usually did. "Right! An escape is in order then! Off we go!" he grinned, grabbing Mathew by the arm and racing down the hallway.

Mathew practically had to turn and drag him back towards the meeting room where the phone sat, convincing him the whole way that England wasn't waiting to ambush him there. Alfred's face fell again as he stared down at the phone, and he picked it up as he would a grenade about to go off.

"What is it Ludwig?"

"What do you mean, 'what is it,'" Ludwig hissed in reply, "Italy and I don't have the resources to look after Kiku right now, you moron. We're both completely broke from this damn war, and can barely look after ourselves. Whatever you did to Kiku, you're going to have to fix it. My doctors can't figure out what's wrong with him. He's getting sick too, besides his injuries. Come get him."

"Come what?!" America exclaimed in surprise, "You can't be serious!"

"He's going to die because of what you've done!" Germany spat.

Alfred's eyes widened. Those were the same words Ivan had said before he left. He didn't want that . . . He couldn't be responsible for another country's demise. But his boss . . . Truman definitely wouldn't like it. The blond clenched his hand against the leather of his jacket. He'd followed orders four days ago, and look what had happened. What about doing what _he _thought was right? Didn't that matter at all?

"All right. I'll be there soon. No tricks, Germany."

There was an annoyed huff on the other end of the phone, "I'm not listening to my insane boss anymore, thank you. It was my decision to call you, not his." A sharp click, later, and America held a silent phone in his hand.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"You called him?" Italy asked as Germany reentered the room.

"Yes, are you satisfied? My boss is going to be pissed," Ludwig muttered, sitting down in a chair beside his ally. "We could have taken care of him ourselves. I mean, America must be the _last _person Kiku wants to see."

"But he's the only one who can help him," Feliciano whispered.

"I'm sure he'd much rather di-"

"Don't say that!" Italy screamed, standing up so fast that he knocked his chair over. "You don't know what you're saying! Have you ever had someone close to you die?!" He sobbed, falling backwards into his chair. "You haven't seen it . . . You haven't felt it . . . Grandpa Rome . . . And then . . . Then . . ." he covered his face with his hands, trying in vain to hold back a strangled sob.

Ludwig, startled at this reaction, reached over and took the hands away from Feliciano's face. "Hey, hey. You're right, I have no right to say anything at all. And I certainly don't want Japan to die. Italy . . . Why does that upset you so much? You've never acted like that about your grandfather before."

Italy shook his head, "Not grandpa . . . That's not . . ." he hiccupped, trying to wrench away from Ludwig, but the blond held him steady. "He died . . . I told you about him once before . . . I never even got to say goodbye . . . He said he was going to become stronger, for me. And he died. It was my fault. All my fault."

Germany's eyes narrowed, "Who, Feliciano?"

"H-Holy Roman Empire . . ."

The blonde's gaze darkened in confusion. He'd never heard the name before. Yet it sounded like he should know it. "Italy," he whispered, loosening his hand from around the other's wrist, and letting it fall to the auburn haired man's chest. "What do you wear, everyday, just below this uniform?" It wasn't a question.

Italy hiccupped again, drawing out the black and white metal cross necklace from beneath his cloths and holding it out towards the blond.

"Right," Ludwig whispered, closing his companion's hand around the trinket. "And I wear one too, identical to this. I'm sure, that this Holy Roman Empire wouldn't want you to cry. And neither would Kiku. So, you have to be strong, for both of them." He smiled slightly, a rare smile, "And maybe I understand, just a little. Because I know that if you died, it would hurt me too."

Feliciano nodded, tucking the cross back into his cloths. "Sorry, Doitsu. I know, that you care . . . I just . . ."

There was a soft knock on the door, and America suddenly poked his head inside the room. "Er, am I interrupting anything majorly important here? Cause I can't exactly come all this way a second time if I am . . ."

Ludwig sighed, "no, come on in." He motioned towards the bed, "we already wrapped up his wounds, so he should be okay for a short trip."

Alfred came into the room slowly, staring at the floor for a moment before he let his eyes fall on the bed. Kiku was unconscious, possibly asleep, though it didn't look like it. His chest was wrapped up in white gauze, and his face was just as pale. The blond flinched at the sight.

"Take him," Ludwig growled, "and don't come back."

Alfred nodded, reaching beneath the covers to scoop up Japan into his arms. He was surprised at how light he was, how small, compared to himself. How frail. Even more so now than he might have been in full health. His blue eyes glazed as he took off his jacket, wrapping it around Kiku's limp form. And he didn't look back as he left the room.

It was a longer walk home than he remembered, though Kiku never seemed to get any heavier. Alfred wasn't sure if he should be worried, or grateful about that.

He hadn't expected to see Truman standing in the doorway to his house as soon as he stepped onto the lawn.

"What do you think you're doing brining him here?" His boss hissed.

Alfred narrowed his eyes, glancing between the shallow breathing Nihon and his boss. "Healing him, what does it look like."

"Put him down, Alfred."

"No," the blond said venomously. "I listened to your orders, but I never thought it'd turn out like this. We won the war, and defeated out enemies, but we gained two new ones in the process! And now Kiku is _dying_ because of what I've done, and I won't stand by for that. I'll look after him. You just step aside."

"You'll get us all killed. You can't have forgotten that scar already."

"Of course not. But we've exchanged scars now. I have no grudge against him." He raised his eyes to glare fiercely at his boss, "this is my decision, Truman. And I wont let you stop me."

The president stepped aside as Alfred walked into his house, his eyes dark. "You're making a mistake."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

:D yay Mathew. I wonder how many random times he'll pop up. And I got to talk about HRE this chapter. Silly Germany . . . U still don't remember *snerk* anywho . . . Fight America, fight! And I have nothing else to say this chapter. ^=_=^


	4. Chapter 4

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Jealously **

Alfred ran a hand through Kiku's bangs, pushing them aside to dab away the sweat on his forehead. Though the other country had been in his care for little less than twenty-four hours, nothing had changed in his condition. Well, except for the fact that he'd gained a fever in the process. And Alfred was beginning to wonder if America was really suited to looking after another country.

It wasn't as if the war hadn't had an effect on him either. He could already feel a slight cold coming on, though not one nearly as bad as the last war, thank god. But a small one all the same. And with Japan to take care of . . .

Kiku mumbled something in his sleep, rolling away from the cool cloth Alfred had placed to his forehead. America groaned, and rolled him back over, putting the cloth back in it's place. But Kiku only whimpered, flinching away from him.

Alfred sighed, placing his hand across Kiku's forehead to check his temperature, his eyes narrowed in worry. "If you keep resisting like this, you'll only get worse," he whispered. He ran his fingers over Kiku's cheek, "Your fever is really high . . ."

He took half a step back, drawing the blankets off the other country, ignoring the shiver and whimper that resulted. Reaching out, he removed the sweater he'd placed on Kiku before, then his own jacket and shirt. He sighed again as he crawled into the bed, on his hands and knees above the other. "You're a real pain, you know that?" he whispered. He pressed his forehead against Kiku's, frowning at the difference in temperature, before he rolled over and lay down beside him. Pulling the blankets back over them, he closed his eyes, listening to Kiku's short, shallow breaths, before he pulled him close, pressing the smaller country against his chest. It was an old method, and definitely not the most convenient, but would hopefully transfer some of his own energy and resources into Kiku. An "old wives" method, but he'd heard of it being used and actually working before.

He blinked as Kiku nestled his head against his shoulder, and pulled him closer. "Germany's going to kick my butt if I let you die," he murmured, wrapping his arms around Nihon's back. "So I'm . . . going to make sure that you don't . . ."

At that moment, Kiku's dark eyes flickered open, and he tilted his head a bit to gaze dazedly at America, before he drifted back into sleep, his arms entangling around the taller man.

Alfred stared at him in surprise at him, blue eyes wide, before he rested his head on top of Kiku's.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"We really shouldn't bother him," Francis protested, waving his arms around, "What if he just wants some time alone, or . . . Or something!"

Arthur ignored him, continuing to pick the lock on Alfred's house. "If that idiot's going to run off without telling us, I'm allowed to sneak in and check up on him."

"That's called being a stalker," Francis smirked.

England ignored this too, pushing the door open with a satisfied smile. He tramped through the rooms, slamming Alfred's bedroom door open. And then stood there staring blankly at what he saw.

Alfred, awakened by the loud bang the door had made against the wall, had raised himself up on one elbow and blinked sleepily at them. He was still half leaning over Kiku, and he sat up straighter, putting his other hand in front of Japan as he noticed the look Arthur gave him.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and his hand flew to the gun on his hip. "What the hell is _he_ doing here," he hissed, glaring at Kiku.

America rolled over, placing himself in front, and overtop of Japan, blocking him from Arthur's view. "I brought him here," he said, eyeing the gun Arthur was touching.

"Have you forgotten that until a few days ago, he was our enemy?" Arthur growled. "That's not going to change if you-"

"Why does everyone keep asking me if I've forgotten that?" Alfred burst out, interrupting whatever England had been about to say. "I know one thing that I _haven't_ forgotten, and that's the fact that I was the one who did this to him. So he's my responsibility now! And yes, I realize that he'll probably flip when he wakes up. But it's nothing I won't be able to handle."

Arthur gritted his teeth, lunging forward as if to forcibly tear Kiku away from Alfred. But Francis darted in front of him, catching his arms and slamming him backwards into the doorframe. "Arthur, stop," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Alfred couldn't hear. "This isn't your decision to interfere with, stay out of it." His eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned closer to the younger man, "He'll never forgive you if you do. I know that he's young, and he's rash. But you have to believe that he's making the right decision. He's always been right before."

England's eyes narrowed, and he struggled in France's grip, "what if this time he's wrong? How could I ever forgive myself if he gets hurt?"

"Everyone makes mistakes," Francis whispered, "you and I both know that. And I'm sure, one day, he'll make some too, though he probably already did in his own mind. He'll learn from them, and that's that. He's strong, Arthur. And if you'd take a step back and realize that he hasn't needed you for almost two hundred years, you'd have realized that by now."

A shocked and anguished look flashed in Arthur's eyes, and he jerked away from Francis, turning to glare at Alfred. "Fine, do what you want," he bit out, whisking out of the room faster than he had come. Francis stared after him a moment, before giving Alfred a shrug, and following him.

Alfred merely raised an eyebrow at all of this, before leaning down to press his forehead against Kiku's. He smiled, "your fever's going down. I guess that means it's working." He rolled back over, taking the smaller country into his arms again, settling back into a light sleep.

"You really didn't have to get so insane like that," Francis said quietly as he trailed behind Arthur on their walk home.

"Don't say that like you think you understand," Arthur hissed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I've seen the way that idiot looks at Kiku, even if he himself doesn't realize he's doing it. And now he's sharing his bed with him?! Why shouldn't I lose it?"

Francis decided not to mention the fact that that method used to be very common for healing another country in hard times, and that he himself had done it for Arthur before, though the younger probably had been too young to remember. "But . . . If you really love him, shouldn't you just stand by and let him be happy, even if it isn't with you?"

"Shut up. Stop talking like you understand!"

The older man's eyes narrowed, and he reached out, grasping England's arm and jerking him back. "And you do?" he growled, "you _let_ him go, made him hate you by trying to force your ideals on him! It's your fault! And even though I _knew_ he could never love you back, I stood by and watched, because for some reason, you're perfectly fine with living with unrequited love! Now that he might like someone other than you, it hurts, doesn't it!"

"What're you-" Arthur started.

"Now you know how I've felt all this time, you idiot!" he dropped Arthur's arm, turning and disappearing down the street in the opposite direction, leaving the other to stare after him.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"So . . . You're going to build some of these 'nuclear weapons'?" China drawled out, drawing lazy circles across Russia's bare chest.

"Hmm . . . I think so. I've already let slip to some of Alfred's spies that I am. I want him scared. I want him to fear me. So much so that it begins to break him." Ivan murmured, running his fingers through Yao's unbound long hair. He turned slightly, catching the older man's lips against his own, smirking. "Afraid of us, of course. You'll like this new system of government I've set up, Yao. It's quite fun."

"Oh?" China raised an eyebrow, continuing to trace out shapes on Ivan's chest, "will you teach it to me? It's sounds interesting, aru."

"Obviously," Ivan murmured, rolling over and pinning the other beneath him. "Because we're allies now. Just you . . ." he kissed him, "and me . . ."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

D: I got to talk about almost everyone. *thumbs up* cept Germany and Italy-chan. Dang. but next chapter for them hopefully. I wrote most of this on yucky looking yellow paper at my Grandma's house, because I forgot to bring any paper with me. And it wasn't lined either, so trying to decipher my own, slowly sloping downwards handwriting was sooo much fun. Not. Anywho . . . In case u don't read the manga or whatever, when a country "gets a cold" or gets sick, that's when they're in economic turmoil or something like that. And Japan is mentioned as always having a cold at the same time as America, which is cute. :3 so when America referred to his cold at the end of WW1, that's the Great Depression. And btw, Russia and China being like that is so bad for my health . . . *drool*

Become one with Russia? Click review button please! *points below*


	5. Chapter 5

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Beautiful Angel**

Germany blinked himself awake, sitting up in his bed seconds before the bedroom door slid silently open. He didn't look up, and instead, pulled back the blankets on the other side of the bed, and tugged off his t-shirt, tossing it towards the door. "Put that on and stop walking around my house naked," he grumbled, leaning back on his hands and glancing at the intruder out of the corners of his eyes.

Italy obeyed, pulling the shirt over his head before he slid into the bed beside his ally. He looked over at Ludwig, noticing the other staring at him questioningly. Shaking his head, he flashed the blond a small smile, "I'm annoying, aren't I."

"No," Ludwig stated simply. It wasn't like it was unusual for Feliciano to sneak into his bed. However, it was unusual for the smaller man to make enough noise to wake the blond. He'd done it on purpose.

The auburn haired man smiled again, "It was just . . . A bad dream I guess." He kept his false smile in place even as Germany raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Or a memory," he added quietly.

"A memory?" Ludwig repeated. "You have dreams of memories?"

Feliciano laughed, as if this was something completely ordinary. "Yes. But dreaming of something you've lost, just reliving the memories of that, it turns any dream into a nightmare." Italy started slightly as a large rough hand tussled his hair, and he gazed up at the blond in mild surprise.

"It's better to look towards the future then, isn't it. It's harder to see the past if you keep moving, never stopping to turn and look back," Ludwig murmured. He ruffled the other's hair again, "Now lay down and get some sleep." He smirked slightly, as Italy laughed, his arms entangling around the taller man's waist, and he snuggled down against his chest. The blond waited until the other's breathing slowed into sleep before he let his own thoughts cloud his mind.

Memories really weren't something he should be giving advice about. Not when he didn't have any of his own.

He should have them, he knew he should have. He could feel the dark, blank space in his mind where they should have been. Plus, a country, no matter how young, could not be born in it's adolescence. There was only darkness before the day he'd awakened to find Prussia leaning over him.

"_Where am I?"_

_Prussia smiled, "In the new house I've built for you. You like it?"_

_Ludwig_ _stared at him blankly, "New . . . House?"_

_The older man's crimson eyes flashed in realization, "You . . Don't remember, do you." He smiled again as the blond gazed blankly at him, "Well, you're . . ." He closed his eyes briefly, noticing how the blond had grown to resemble his father, "Your name is Ger . . . Germany," he finished. Yes, that would be a good name. Different from his old one, and similar to his ancestor's. The perfect name for the child of Germania, and the heir to the Roman Empire._

"_Germany," the blond repeated in a monotone. He turned blue eyes to the older man, "and you?"_

"_Prussia," Gilbert grinned._

_Germany raised an eyebrow at him contemplatively for a moment before he spoke. "You look like a rabbit."_

Somewhere in his fragmented first memory, Ludwig had drifted into dreams. Bits and pieces of dark and light, like paint splashed across his mind here and there. And a voice was speaking to him. Soft, familiar, it hurt his heart, and he knew he should remember it.

"_I-I'll give this to you . . ."_

"_This is . . . A deck brush?" He ran his hands along it, feeling the soft polished and well worn wooden handle. "Then . . . In return, at your house, what do you do with people you like?"_

"_You . . . Kiss them I guess . . ."_

_The darkness in his vision lifted suddenly, and the blond blinked as brown eyes met blue. A girl stood in front of him, garbed in a green dress with a white smock, her hands clasped in his. But as he stood there, their fingers intertwined, her voice fading out of his dream, he started in realization. These hands, these brown eyes and auburn hair with a slight curl. This wasn't a girl, this was . . ._

_He gasped as he was suddenly jerked backwards, their hands tearing apart. His vision began to blur away again, the sound muting out completely. He reached for the other as he raised his hands, reaching desperately towards each other. But they couldn't reach. Ludwig stretched his hand as far as he could, his fingers briefly brushing against the other's as the auburn haired child sobbed. _

"_Italy!" He yelled, trying in vain once more to catch the other's hands. But he couldn't reach. Couldn't touch. Couldn't remember._

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Kiku awoke to a searing pain all over his body. He kept his eyes shut, feeling blindly for the wounds. One on his chest, the other on his stomach. They were bandaged now, wrapped tightly so that the bleeding had long ago stopped. He kept his eyes closed as he relaxed back into the blankets. Realization hit him like another bullet. Blankets, a bed. Not a futon. This was not his house. He opened his eyes a bit, noticing the unfamiliar blue ceiling. This couldn't be Germany or Italy's house then either. But who . . .

The door to his right clicked open, and he turned his head. Alfred took four steps inside, then two steps back, dropping the basin of warm water and washcloth he'd been holding. Kiku had raised himself up on one shaking arm, his eyes narrowed in fear and rage.

"So this is the place I'm meant to die, is it?" Kiku bit out, wincing with the pain the simple act of speaking caused him.

America raised his hands up in front of his chest, a submissive pose he wasn't sure Kiku would recognize. "Whoa, wait. I'm not going to hurt you-"

Kiku swiped a hand across his own chest, tearing the bandages down the center, and revealing the blazing red of the still fresh wound. "You already did!" he hissed, dark eyes narrowed in pain.

Alfred's eyes widened, and he rushed forward, shoving Japan back down onto the bed. "What do you think you're doing?!" he burst out, taking a roll of gauze from the bedside table. "Don't reopen the wounds, you idiot." He pressed a cloth to the blood slowly oozing out of the partially healed hole in Kiku's chest, before hurrying from the room. The blond returned only moments later, a new basin of warm water in his hands.

Kiku stared up at him in disbelief as Alfred cleaned the blood away. And he lay still as the younger man wrapped up his chest again. He couldn't believe it, the look of _worry_ in his eyes.

"Don't do that again," Alfred scolded gently as he tucked Japan back into the blankets, "you scared me." He sat down hesitantly on the edge of the bed, confused as Kiku stayed silent. "You hate me, don't you," he whispered, smiling slightly. "I hate me too, you know?" He laughed a bit, "but Germany asked me to look after you, so I will." "Because you're obligated too," Kiku muttered.

"No, because it's my responsibility," America corrected quickly. "I still hold the high end of our treaty. I didn't _have_ to do anything he said. I _chose_ to." He flicked a hand over Kiku's forehead briefly, doing his best to ignore the obvious flinch that resulted. "You still have quite a fever," he said quietly.

"So," Kiku retorted, twisting away from his touch.

Alfred continued smiling, "It's probably good you don't remember then. Go back to sleep, I'll leave you be."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"Germany has bags under his eyes," Italy stated, tracing the marks as he stood in front of the taller man in the kitchen.

"Didn't sleep well," Ludwig grumbled, continuing to fry the sausages over his gas stove.

"A bad dream?" Italy asked, "What was it about?"

The blond blinked in surprise at the question, "I . . . don't know," he answered honestly.

"That's too bad," Feliciano sighed, taking Germany's hand in both of his own, "it's better when you can talk about it. Like I do with you," he smiled, leaning over to swipe one of the sausages, not noticing how Ludwig failed to scold him for once.

The blond stared down at the hands around his, a question pricking at the corners of his mind. "This . . . Holy Roman Empire . . . Did you see him die? Were you there?"

Italy looked up at him, startled by the suddenness of the question. "N-no. Francis just told me he was gone one day . . ." He smiled sadly, "I never saw his body. But I'm sure . . . Sure that he's an angel now, looking out for me . . ." He twined his fingers with Germany's briefly, before letting their hands fall apart, "Anyways, can we have pasta with breakfast?"

Ludwig groaned.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Kiku dreamed of warmth. Of strong, warm arms around him, protecting him. Of a soft, sleepy breath near his ear. He shifted in and out of consciousness, curling deeper into the strong arms. He felt safe, content in this embrace. Though he never broke out of sleep long enough to care about who it might be that held him with such care.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

I wrote this during school again . . . Which I apparently need to do more often, since u got a longer chapter. :D I've gotten so many reviews already, though the story's been out barely a week total! (that also means I'm working my butt off with this one. Gah.)

Anywho . . . Had to rewatch a butt ton of episodes for this chapter. Actually, I only needed to watch the one where HRE leaves, but I couldn't remember which one it was, so I watched a lot. Including the France/UK ep where they get married. And I realized, zomg. Look at that date. I can fricken USE that right now.

And my c button is dead. I must push it reeeaaalllly hard to get it to work. D: dumb internet less laptop of death.

Become one with Russia? Click review button pleaz! (Or Russia may smite u. :3)


	6. Chapter 6

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Side Story **

*This takes place immediately after the final scene with Ivan and Yao in chapter two.*

Yao couldn't say he hadn't slightly expected Ivan to refuse to release his grip, but he was surprised anyways. He smiled uneasily, continuing to follow the lavender eyed man down the street, away from ally headquarters. "Err . . . Russia, can you let go now?" He asked quietly, tugging the taller man's scarf with his free hand.

Russia glanced at him over his shoulder, grinning, "Hmm? Why?"

The dark haired man blushed furiously, "It's embarrassing aru!"

"Oh?" Ivan smiled innocently, turning and taking his hand from China's. "Then . . ." He pulled the glove on that hand off, and grasped the smaller man's hand in his own once more, twining their fingers together. "Is this embarrassing too?"

China turned an even darker shade of red, "of course it is! More so even, aru!"

Ivan ignored him, continuing down the road with their fingers still intertwined. "But we're allies now. So it's okay."

"I don't remember any hand holding parties at any of our meetings with the others before now," Yao huffed, staring up at the sky.

"I didn't like any of the others," Russia said seriously. "They just happened to be on the winning side."

"Winning side?"

Ivan grinned, "I prefer to stay on the side of the people that are sure to win. Next time, I suspect it won't be that damned America's team however."

China raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. They had by now come upon a large house. Or, more like a mansion, almost double the size of his own. "Your house is huuuuuggeee," Yao gasped in awe. "I bet you have a lot of servants."

"Just the usual, Lithuania and Latvia and all that," Ivan said in a bored tone, waving his hand dismissively as Lithuania himself opened the door to meet them. He tossed his coat at the flustered man, smirking to himself as Lithuania stumbled to catch it. "Anyways, shall I show you around?"

"That would be nice," Yao whispered, staring up at the high ceiling. His house's ceilings weren't even half that height. And his house went more up than around, unlike Russia's. He was curious. The internal décor was completely different too so far. Kinda . . . Demonic.

Russia, still maintaining a tight grip on his hand, led him down the hallway. He showed him a few rooms briefly, feigning ignorance when Latvia started so bad he dropped a plate when they burst into the kitchen. Yao stared as they left, eyes widening as he heard the cry of "Latviaaaaa!" from Estonia. He was beginning to think that Russia had a very _strange_ house.

"This one's my bedroom," Ivan said smugly, shoving China into the room.

Yao waved his arms, trying to regain his balance from the push as he entered the room. "Is everything in this house huge?" He asked, straightening up as he regained his balance, eyeing the oversized bed. He didn't have many beds at his house, they were a luxury, and Japan's attacks had more or less drained his money. No use buying useless things like that. But a bed would be nice . . .

Ivan laughed, "well . . . I guess you'll have to see." He smirked darkly.

China blinked as he heard the door inch closed, and the click of a lock. He glanced over his shoulder at Ivan, shivering from the dark smile, "Err . . . Yes, then, why don't you show it to me?" He eased his breathing, trying to calm his mind from screaming - _oh my god! I am going to die!_

"I will," Russia grinned, pacing slowly towards Yao and undoing his scarf from around his neck. He laughed as he reached out a hand, toppling Yao backwards onto the bed with a light shove.

Wang-Yao lay there in absolute shock as Russia leaned over him. He didn't speak as Ivan captured his lips in a searing kiss so fierce he bit his tongue. The taller man noticed this immediately, forcing his own tongue into Yao's mouth to lick the blood pooling there. His fingers played with the small knots at the top of China's shirt, undoing enough of them until he could slide the item off.

Yao stared up at him with glazed eyes as the younger man straitened up a bit to tug off his own shirt. Words finally seemed to make it to his lips as Russia ran a hand down his exposed chest, making him shiver. "Wait . . . Why . . ."

"You're my ally," the silver-brown haired man replied simply.

The older man couldn't help being sarcastic again, "so? I didn't see you running off with any of your previous allies and doing this, aru." He narrowed his eyes, "You didn't, did you?"

Ivan laughed, reaching behind Yao to undo the hair tie binding his long dark hair. "No. You sound jealous, Yao. Does that make you mad to think of me doing this with anyone else?"

"N-no way, aru!" China snapped immediately.

"You're special to me," Russia whispered, pressing Yao farther back into the bed. "You've been part of my life since the day I was born. You were my light all those years that we were locked up in that horrid place."

Yao's eyes widened with the memories he'd blocked from his mind for so long. He covered his face with his hands, repressing a strangled sob. He'd almost forgotten, with how long he'd lived. Forgotten how he'd held a young Russia as they lay in the dark, cold cell as the Mongols took over their houses, their people. It had been more than he could take, and then they'd thrown that small, almost adolescent child into the same cell as his own. He'd seen him before from a distance. But he had ended up there, battered and weak, biting his lip as though he was trying his best not to cry. "I remember," he whispered. "I remember . . ."

The next kiss was gentler, Russia's hands entangling in Yao's hair as he pulled him into his embrace. He let his hands glide down, pushing away the loose, string tied pants China wore, his lavender eyes never straying from Yao's dark ones. "I want you to be my ally, in every way. That's what I've . . . Always wanted."

Yao smiled a bit, instinct taking over his body as he slid his hands beneath the taller man's pants, pulling them off. "Don't you say that to everyone, aru?" He brought his hands back up to Russia's chest, tracing the toned muscles and the light scars. "Something like 'become one with Russia'?"

"Jealous," Ivan crooned. "But I just want them to work in my house, they're entertaining that way. Like those three down the hall." He smirked, his fingers dancing down the curve of Yao's back, coming to rest near the older man's entrance.

China nearly pulled away in shock as Ivan slid two fingers inside him, and he hissed in surprise and pain. "Wait, stop! What are y-"

He was cut short as Russia leaned down to take his lips against his own again. He reached up, curling his fingers into the short, light hair, locking their lips together as Ivan prepared him. He gasped as the taller man pulled away, eyes widening as Ivan heaved his legs up onto his shoulders. "You aren't really going too . . ."

Ivan kissed him once more, pulling him close as he forced himself inside, ignoring Yao's sharp intake of breath.

Yao's arms had curled around Ivan's back, and he pulled away from the kiss with a cry. "It's hurts," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "It hurts . . ."

The next kiss was just below Yao's eyes, Ivan's tongue flicking out to lick away the tears trailing down the smaller man's cheeks. "I'd say I'm sorry, if I was," he smirked.

"Evil," Yao whispered, burying his face against Ivan's neck. He dug his nails into the taller man's back, pulling himself farther down onto him.

Ivan gasped in surprise and pleasure at this, drawing back before pressing inside again with a satisfied smile. "You could say that," he crooned, repeating the movement. He freed one of his arms from beneath Yao's back, levering himself up a bit as he thrust inside again.

Yao's eyes widened, and he sucked in a sharp, pleasured breath as Ivan managed to hit that special spot. This was no longer the same, small, weak child he had held in the darkness of their imprisonment. No. He was tall, taller than all of the other countries, and a strong, fierce willed man now. The innocence had disappeared from his eyes, replaced with a false feign of it. And it would be many years until Yao saw him cry again. But beneath all that, there must have been some small piece of that helpless child, for he clung to Yao now as he had so many years ago. As though the older man was suddenly his entire world and existence, and he would never let go.

"That probably didn't last as long as you would have liked, did it," Yao whispered apologetically as Ivan pulled the blankets up over them.

"I suppose. But you'll get better at it," Ivan grinned.

Yao made a face, "Is that your way of saying that we'll be doing this often, aru?"

"Yes," Russia laughed, taking Yao into his arms.

China smiled too, curling his arms around Russia's back and settling completely into his embrace. "This is the complete opposite of before, huh," he murmured against Ivan's chest. "Now, you're the one holding me."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Hahaha, sorries I cut the smut scene off back there. But I wanted those last thoughts of Yao's to leave an impact, and continuing on seemed like a waste. = 3= I plan to one day writing a multi-chapter on Russia and China's experiences with the Mongols too. After LDoH tho. Whenever that will be. (probably not till 2010 then.) and what the hell color is Ivan's hair? Fans color it silver, but in the anime and manga it's sorta brownish. So . . . Silver-brown? D:

Anywho . . . This was mainly inspired by the video/song "Damned If I Do Ya" by All Time Low, and the Video on Youtube that is RussiaxChina with this song. Look it up. :D

And when China asked if EVERYTHING in Ivan's house was big . . . Yes, that IS what Ivan was thinking. Pervert. And I got to write about Lithuania for a bit! Woo! (since I can't see a time when he will show up in LDoH. Or Poland. *pouts*)

Ivan say's review or die *click*


	7. Chapter 7

**A Little Drop Of Healing: If You Have Forgotten**

"_Francis, come here and look at this."_

_Francis raised his eyes to gaze up at his grandfather. Momentarily distracted form fighting with Holy Roman Empire, he jumped off of him and ran forwards to meet the man. "What is it?"_

_Rome smiled, motioning a hand, "Come closer, I'll show you."_

_Holy Roman Empire leapt to his feet from where France had been holding him down, trying to force him to eat a fistful of grass. He tripped up to Francis's side, standing on tiptoes to try and see what Roman Empire was holding hidden in the arms closed over his chest. "Me too! I want to see!"_

_Roman Empire laughed, "No, not today. This is a gift just for Francis. Why don't you go play with Italy, I brought him along. I'm sure he'd be happy to see you." The small blond grinned and blushed, dashing off to go find the younger child. Rome laughed again, and beckoned Francis closer, "Come and look, Francis." The arms that he had had folded over his chest opened, revealing a small, blond baby._

"_Whoa!" Francis exclaimed, "Is it another brother?" "No," Rome smiled, "I found him on my ocean travels a few days ago. He's not relative of yours."_

_Francis narrowed his eyes as he stared down at the child held out in front of him. "He has funny eyebrows," he muttered, glaring down at the infant's rather large dark eyebrows._

_Rome chuckled, shaking his head, "Here," he said quietly, "hold him." He unceremoniously dropped the child into Francis's arms, smirking as the young boy stumbled to catch him._

_The blond sat down on the grass, cradling the baby securely against his chest. "He's . . . Really warm," he whispered, hugging the child closer. He turned to his grandfather again, "And _heavy_."_

"_For you, yes. I'm sure he is," Rome laughed. "But I'm certain you'll learn to carry his weight."_

"_What do you mean?" Francis asked, tilting his head to the side. _

_Rome placed his hand on his grandchild's head, ruffling his hair fondly, ignoring the scowl he received in return. "I'm giving him to you, Francis."_

"_To conquer?" Francis chirped gleefully. He could just let Holy Roman Empire have that useless Italy then. It would save him some trouble._

_His grandfather looked slightly startled at this, and placed a firm hand over France's mouth. "No," he whispered, "never that. I want you to look after him, raise him. Teach him what's right and what is wrong."_

"_No conquering?" Francis whined. "Why not? You do it all the time?"_

"_That is exactly why," Rome whispered sadly. He kneeled down in front of his grandson and pulled back his breastplate, closing his eyes as Francis gasped. He himself didn't need to see it, he already had a thousand times over. The scars and healing wounds, coupled with the fresh cuts and gashes he no longer bothered to treat. They zigzagged and twisted across his chest, extending to his back, though Francis couldn't see that. "Please, Francis," Rome whispered, "don't become like me."_

_France looked away so that his grandfather couldn't see the tears stinging his eyes. "All right . . ." He leaned down, clutching the baby to him tightly, pressing his forehead to the child's. "I'll look after him. I wont let him get hurt or anything!" He brushed away the tears, strengthening his gaze as he looked up at his grandfather once more. "Umm . . . Grandpa, what's his name?"_

_The smile returned to Rome's face as he refastened his breastplate, looking thoughtful. "He doesn't have one yet. Why don't you think of one for him? Something noble and strong sounding?"_

"_Err . . ." The blond stared down at the child, "A . . . Arth . . .Er . . . Arthur!"_

_His grandfather raised an eyebrow at this, "You just made that up, didn't you."_

"_No," Francis lied, rocking the child in his arms. "It's a good name. A kingly name."_

_Rome sighed, ruffling the blonde's hair again, "Promise me you'll take good care of him, all right?" "I will," Francis swore, "and you'll come back to visit him . . . Right?"_

_Roman Empire smiled. A small, sad smile. "Of course, Francis. Of course I will."_

"_Was your grandfather strong?" The small, dark eye-browed blond asked as he hurried alongside the older boy. _

"_Yes," Francis replied, reading down to scoop up a handful of wildflowers as they walked. "He was very strong. The strongest nation of his time."_

"_Was he tall?" Arthur asked, stretching his arms above his head as far as they would go. "Was he really _really_ tall?"_

_France smacked the child upside the head, "Stop asking me stupid questions. I've told you about him a million times before." He scowled as the boy sniffled, green eyes watering. "Sit," Francis commanded. Arthur sat. _

_The older blond sat in the grass in front of him, spreading out the handful of flowers between them. "Have I showed you how to make a flower chain before?" Arthur shook his head, and Francis smiled. "Okay, let's make some then. I'll teach you." With gentle hands, he guided Arthur's fingers as they tied and wove the stems together, winding them into a good-sized loop. The older blond grinned, and dropped it onto England's head. _

_Arthur stared up at the small flowers, his eyes shining. "Wow! It's like a crown!" He stood up, twirling away from Francis across the field, laughing._

_Francis jumped to his feet to catch the younger boy's hands in his own. And he laughed too, as they twirled and spun, racing hand in hand through the wildflowers._

"_You need to be self sustaining," Francis declared one morning, tying a bright pink apron around his waist. "I can't look after you forever, you know."_

_England made a face, "I've been telling you that for years." France made a face at him, "have not. You're not even of age yet. Stop lying." He grabbed the younger boy from where he was seated at the table, placing a matching apron around his shoulders. "Today, I teach you how to cook fine cuisine like moi!" he passed Arthur a pot, "boil water over the fire."_

_It was less than five minutes later that Francis realized, yes, it was possible to burn water, though how, he couldn't figure out. "Why is it smoking!? How the hell did that even happen!?"_

"_I don't know!" Arthur exclaimed, startled. "It just kinda went 'boof' and then 'voosh'!" He screamed as the pot decided to explode at that exact moment. Francis screamed too. _

_Further cooking lessons were abandoned thereof._

"_Why don't you fight me back, Francis," Arthur hissed, staring down at the blond man shackled to the stone wall. He pressed a hand to France's forehead, slamming his skull back against the rock with a sickening thud. "You _never_ fight back! It's all some kind of cruel game to you, isn't it!? To send your troops out, knowing full well that they'll lose! Coward!" He growled, tilting Francis's face up towards his, meeting the blue eyes with his green. "You're nothing but a coward, France."_

_Francis blinked, smiling sadly, ignoring the blood pooling in his mouth. "I guess I am . . ."_

"_Why are you siding with America!?!"_

_Francis looked up at the younger man, a false grin on his face. "Oh, that? Why would I ever side with you, after all you've done." He laughed, "Not likely."_

_Arthur bit his lip, holding back some sharp retort. "You were neutral until just a few days ago."_

"_Hmm . . . Was I?" He smirked, "I never planned to just stand by and watch as you became such a tyrant, Arthur. Power only leads to destruction."_

"_And what will you do if I lose?" Arthur asked venomously. "I'll blame you, you know very well. I might even kill you."_

"_I won't do anything," Francis smiled. "Nothing. I wont even raise my sword."_

"_You never do," Arthur spat._

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

The rain pelted down around him, dripping slowly from his blue uniform and his long blond hair. He kept his eyes on the ground, watching each droplet splash across the already forming puddles. His memories got the better of him on days like this. It had rained on so many, many sad days. It had been raining the night he'd heard of his Grandfather's demise. It had drizzled the morning he'd had to tell Italy that Holly Roman Empire had disappeared. It had been raining the first time he'd had to fight with Arthur. And it had poured the day he and America had won the war against the child he'd looked after his whole life. _Grandfather . . . Did I really do everything right?_

"I'm starting to wonder just how long you plan on standing outside my gate," A bored voice mumbled.

Francis turned, slightly startled, "Err . . ."

"It's rather creepy," Arthur said, tilting his head to the side. "No doubt you'll catch cold if you stay out here much longer." He waved a hand, motioning for Francis to follow, "I'm sure my boss will be pissed if I let that happen. Come on inside."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Kiku's eyes flickered open once more, and he rubbed at them in an effort to stay awake. For the past few days, he'd drifted in and out of consciousness. And he wasn't exactly comfortable with that. Not in America's house. As he forced his eyes to open fully, he recoiled, noticing America himself sitting on the edge of the bed.

Alfred looked up from his book, peering over the rims of his glasses at Japan with a small smile. "You're awake, that's good. I was starting to worry."

Japan's eyes narrowed as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the stab of pain in his chest and stomach. "Do you just sit there all day?" He asked quizzically.

"Uh . . . Yes?" Alfred said uncertainly, not sure if the answer would make Kiku mad or not.

Kiku mumbled something under his breath, before glaring at the taller man. "I'd prefer if you just left me to die."

"No," Alfred snapped. "How many times to I have to tell you that?" He waved a hand dismissively, setting his book down on the bedside table. "Anyways, now that you're awake, I'm sure that you'd like to change and wash up, right?"

The dark haired man stared down at the overly large, white button-up long sleeved shirt he was wearing. He glanced at Alfred out of the corners of his eyes, "Maybe." He sat up a little straighter, scanning the room. "Point me to where your washroom is then."

Alfred smiled, "I'll show you, just let me-" he had begun to draw back the blankets tucked in around the other country, when Kiku had flinched, slapping his hand away.

"What do you think you're doing?" The older man hissed, glaring up at Alfred.

The blond raised an eyebrow, "You can't possibly expect to be able to _walk_ there on you own."

"I can," Kiku retorted.

Alfred's smile turned to a smirk, "Fine, go ahead."

Kiku complied, levering himself off the bed and into a standing position, before collapsing to the floor with a sharp gasp of pain.

"I told you," America whispered, kneeling down beside him. "Now, are you going to let me help you, or not?" He laughed a bit as Kiku shot him a nasty glare. "I swear, I wont tell anyone that I did. Okay?" When the dark eyed man remained silent, America took the initiative, scooping him up and into his arms.

Kiku gasped in surprise, struggling in Alfred's grip. "No, wait! Don't carry me, I'll fall!"

"If you don't stop flailing around, you really might," Alfred muttered. "But I wont drop you."

Kiku mumbled another swear under his breath, leaning his head on Alfred's shoulder to hide his embarrassment, his arms encircling around the blonde's neck. "Just get this over with before I'm mortified to death."

"You're not looking, are you?" Kiku called from across the bathroom, glaring at Alfred's back as he sat in the bath.

"No," America sighed, eyes glazed as he stared at the opposite wall through the steam. "Though it wouldn't matter if I did," He muttered under his breath, "I've seen it all before. Who do you think changed your clothes these past two weeks . . ." He grumbled something about being stubborn and stupid, before raising his voice so Japan could hear him. "If you need any help, just say so."

"I don't need help!" Japan snapped indignantly. He shot Alfred's back another nasty glare, grabbing the shampoo from the shelf. He gave it an experimental sniff and frowned. America's sense of smell must be _really _off if this is what he though lilies smelled like. But he poured some into his hands anyways, raising his arms to rub it into his hair. "Ah . . . Ow!"

Alfred turned, a concerned look on his face, "You okay?"

Kiku shook his head furiously, "T-turn around! I told you not to look!" He waited as Alfred sighed and turned away again, before trying to repeat the movement. The sharp pain that laced through his chest as he raised his arms made him whimper. He stared down at the shampoo in his hands for a moment, before glancing at Alfred with a defeated look. "I can't wash my hair."

The blond turned slowly, cautiously, half expecting to be yelled at again for peeking. But Kiku just stared at the shampoo in his hands, face red. "All right," America said quietly, coming up to the side of the bath and getting down on his knees beside it. Kiku's flinch was less obvious as Alfred scooped the soap from his hands, but it was there all the same. And as Alfred lathered the shampoo into Japan's hair, he noticed it. The way Kiku was shaking ever so slightly.

Alfred closed his eyes, relaxing his hands and leaning his head against the back of Kiku's wet hair. "You're really . . . Never going to forgive me . . . Are you."

"No," Nihon whispered. "Forgiveness isn't something you can earn from me. Not when I still have these wounds and scars to remind me of what you did." His eyes glazed, fingers tracing the holes beneath the plastic bandages that protected them from the water. But he did not pull away.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Lalalala . . . Sorries this took longer than I said. And I'd love to say that I was studying for all my makeup tests after my bought of Swine Flu . . . But Me and Study in the same sentence is an oxymoron. = 3= I've had the chapter in my spiral for a week, but was too lazy to type. U may hit me with sticks now. I was mostly just messing around, watching the newest episode, signing up for Pixiv to collect artness of this stuff, making an AMV with all the stuff I found, and reading the first two chapters of Lucky and Angel's "Love was Invented In Korea." (Update or I will unleash Ivan. And some flaming kittens. D: )

Anywho . . . Loooonnng chapter for you. I didn't realize it was so long in the notebook . . . France took up too much room with his fashionable awsomeness. You may now pass him beer to sneak into England's drink next chapter. *teehee*

Give France beer for his evil schemes? Review! *click*


	8. Chapter 8

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Each And Every Scar**

Kiku stared down at the bandages around his chest, watching as Alfred's fingers slowly closed each button until they disappeared beneath the light blue fabric of the shirt. He stretched his arms out in front of him, a little below shoulder height since any higher still pained him, and scowled at the way the sleeves hung far over the edges of his hands. "Don't you have any _smaller_ clothes?" he asked, turning his gaze to the oversized pajama-pants that completely hid his feet and then some.

"No," America stated, "I don't usually tend to stock up on clothes for short people."

"I'm not short!" Japan huffed indignantly.

"Oh yes, sorry, of course," Alfred smirked. "You're just sooooo," he raised his hand to his own height, then dropped it back down to Kiku's to emphasize the difference, "soooo tall."

Kiku scowled as he crawled back under the covers on the bed, still not fully satisfied with his change of clothes. He settled himself back against the pillows with a sigh, and narrowed his eyes as he noticed the blond watching him, "America-teme don't you have anything to do around here?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "For you, or for me? And you've been calling me that for the past few days what does that even mean?"

"First question - both," Nihon replied smoothly, "It's more than a little creepy that you're always watching me, and I'm getting pretty bored. Second question - figure it out for yourself, America-teme."

America groaned, shaking his head, "Fine, have it your way." He shrugged, striding over to the bookshelf on the opposite wall. He gave it the once over before dumping a few thick books into his arms. "Can you read English?" he asked, stacking them on the bedside table closest to Japan.

Kiku's eyes skimmed over the titles on the spines, "I can speak it, can't I?" He picked up a book, skimmed the back briefly, and then looked at the titles of the others again, "Why are these all historical novels?"

The blond grinned, "Cause then I'm the hero!" He put his hands on his hips; apparently striking what he assumed was a heroic pose, "Those are obviously the best kind!"

Japan made a face, unnoticed by Alfred, "Don't you own any . . . You know, stories?"

America went back to the shelf, pulling down a much thinner book, "What about this?"

"What's it about?"

Alfred glanced at the cover again; trying to recall if he'd even _read_ this book before, "Err . . . A boy who gets out of whitewashing a fence and goes on cool adventures instead."

Kiku stared at him a moment, thinking that the boy sounded a little too much like America for his liking, before holding out his hand, "Fine. Give it here."

America did so and wandered out of the room out of the room to go occupy himself with something, since his presence wasn't something Kiku enjoyed. It's not like he really just hovered over the other country like Japan thought he did. He went to meetings with his boss and cooked all their meals. But that was just usually while Kiku was sleeping. Which reminded him it was lunch time now. Grimacing, he vowed to cook anything but soup today. That had been practically all he'd eaten since he'd brought Kiku here. Mostly because it was more work to make himself something different than what he gave the other country. Hopefully his house guest wouldn't mind a change of pace either.

He stared at the stove for awhile, trying to remember what other sort of foodstuffs he'd been successful at making before. Well, hamburgers and hotdogs, neither of which could be good for a sick person. Pancakes? He was sure he had a box of instant mix lying around here somewhere.

When he returned to the bedroom half an hour later with a plate of pancakes sprinkled lightly with powdered sugar (since he knew from experience how nasty syrup could be when you're sick) he found Kiku glaring at the book as if it had insulted him.

"I don't remember it being that horrible," Alfred said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

"It's indecent!" Kiku exclaimed loudly, making Alfred jump. He flung the book into America's lap, "That boy just goes around kissing all the girls in his school! He needs to take responsibility!"

America burst out laughing, unable to help himself even as Kiku muttered some Japanese curses at him, "Take responsibility? Kiku, he's like, ten."

Japan narrowed his eyes at the use of his human name, "The only person someone should kiss should be their spouse," he muttered.

Alfred shook his head, stuffing a pancake in his mouth. "That's an _extremely _old-fashioned idea," he said with his mouth full, earning a disgusted look from the smaller country, "I mean, this is the twentieth century after all!" He saw the look Kiku was shooting at him and offered him the plate, "Anyways, are you hungry?"

Kiku eyed the pancakes suspiciously, "I didn't know you ate these. Aren't they of French origin?"

The blond made a face, "Eww, really?" He shrugged, passing one of the breakfast pastries to Japan, "You're not going to finish the book then? You didn't even get to the good stuff, like thieves and pirates."

"I don't know a lot of the words," Kiku admitted quietly, nibbling uncertainly at the pancake, "So some of it is a little hard to understand."

America thought about this for a moment, "I thought you said you could read."

"I didn't say I'd learned from a dictionary," Japan snorted, "This Twain man uses some words I've never heard before."

Alfred looked at the cover again, then back at Kiku, "I could . . . Read it to you, if that's okay. And if there's something you don't understand I can explain it to you then." He waited, closing his eyes and expecting an immediate retort and refusal. But it didn't come.

"Fine," Kiku muttered.

America grinned, stuffing another pancake in his mouth, "Right! I'm good at reading aloud, so leave it to the hero!"

Kiku rolled his eyes.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Francis watched with amusement as England swished the liquid in his glass around with half lidded eyes. "Don't' you think you've had enough for the night?" he asked, smirking.

Arthur glared at him from across the table, "Oh shut up wine bast-basta . . . Whatever that word is! You've drunken twice as much as me!"

"Yes, but I can hold my liquor. Whereas you can not," France pointed out smoothly, taking another sip of his own wine, "And then you'll have a royal headache tomorrow and blame it all on me."

"That's right!" the dark eye-browed blond declared smacking the glass down on the table, "That's why I need to drink!"

"Err . . ."

"No talking," England drawled out, pouring himself another glass, "I have shome thingsh to say now."

"Oh, go right ahead," Francis mocked, leaning back in his chair.

"You're a bastard," England stated, seeming to have remembered the correct word. "And so is that damn America!"

"Splendid."

"I said no talking," England scolded lazily. "Anyways . . ." his characteristic eyebrows furrowed, "What are you doing here anyways . . ."

"You invited me in," Francis reminded him with a grin.

"I did," England admitted, "but I meant, what were you doing out in the rain?"

"This and that," France shrugged.

Arthur didn't look very satisfied with that answer, and took another long swig of wine, glaring at the other man over the edge of his glass, "What do you think about what America's been up to?" "That's really none of my business," the blond said absently, "He's a country too and can manage himself. What he chooses to do with Japan isn't something we can interfere in."

England grumbled something, staring down at the contents of his glass. "You're hair is still wet," he muttered suddenly.

"Huh?" Francis looked up, startled as a towel was suddenly flung over his head.

Arthur had crossed to the other side of the table and was leaning over the older man, scrunching the towel against his long blond hair. "You'll catch a cold again," he whispered.

Francis pushed the other's hands away from the fluffy white fabric, pulling it off his head so that he could look up at the blond from where he sat, "What are you doing?" The younger man turned away, heading towards the stairs without a word, and France frowned. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked, standing up to follow him.

England remained silent as he stomped up the stairs, nearly hitting Francis in the face with the bedroom door as he swung it violently open. "You're scaring me," Francis whispered catching Arthur's wrist. "Look, seriously. What are you-" the older man let out a rather undignified slightly girly yelp as Arthur turned on him, pushing him forwards and making Francis stumble backwards and fall onto the bed.

France's eyes widened and he edged himself back as England approached him, "Whoa wait a minute Arthur, you're drunk. Please think about this for a mo-" Arthur kneeled down on the edge of the bed, his legs on either side of the older man's as he tugged his shirt off, which of course made Francis grow quiet.

The older blond levered himself up with one arm, his eyes scanning down England's chest until they rested on the small ring hanging from the chain around his neck. "What is this?" he whispered, catching the item between his fingers and staring at it.

It was a small glass ring with two layers. And pressed ever so carefully between the layers were small wildflower petals of about four different colors, circling all the way around the ring. "They started to decay even in a pressed flower book. So I put what was left in here," Arthur said quietly.

"This . . ." Francis whispered in disbelief.

"They're the ones from the flower chain you made me."

Blue eyes met emerald in confusion, "How long have you worn this?"

England shrugged, "Umm . . . Probably about three hundred and fifty years now or so."

Francis stared at the ring, dropping it and letting it fall back against England's chest again. "I'm not going to go easy on you," he murmured, "even if you are drunk." He pulled off his own blue uniform shirt tossing it the side, "And I won't listen if you tell me to stop."

Arthur smirked, "Fine."

The older man shook his head, taking Arthur by the shoulder and twisting until the other had gasped in surprise and rolled away leaving Francis to hover over him. "And in case you didn't realize, Iggy, I top around here," Arthur scowled at the nickname, his eyes widening slightly, though he said nothing.

And just for the record, there was no one that could remove clothes faster than Francis Bonnafoy, and soon he had England right where he wanted him blushing furiously and completely naked. "Well aren't you cute," he cooed.

"Sh-shut up!" England hissed, covering his face with his hands, "Look, Francis, just get this over with. You don't have to try and kill me with embarrassment."

Francis smiled, leaning down to kiss him, "But I want you to remember this tomorrow morning. And the more emotions I make you feel, the more ingrained this will be in your mind."

"I'll forget it anyways," Arthur whispered, turning his head to break off the kiss.

"I know," Francis murmured in his ear, sliding his hands down the younger man's back, making him shiver. "But if you can remember a day so long ago that this ring now represents," he kissed the item letting his lips trail down Arthur's chest, "then I can wish, can't I? There's nothing wrong with dreaming."

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath as Francis slid his fingers inside him, recoiling from the alien feeling, "No, wait-"

"I said I wouldn't stop," Francis whispered darkly, adding another finger to the previous two, ignoring the way England whimpered.

England twisted his arms underneath France's as the other pulled back, squeezing his eyes shut, knowing full well it was much too late to turn back. He bit his lip as Francis slid inside, holding back another cry.

"Don't do that," the older blond whispered, kissing him. He pushed the stray locks of hair out of Arthur's eyes, holding the blonde's face between his hands. "Look at me," he murmured, kissing the trail of tears on the younger man's cheeks, "Open your eyes and look at me."

Arthur shook his head, emerald eyes flickering open for a moment before he buried his face against Francis's shoulder. "Don't say that like I mean something to you," he said in anguished murmur, "Don't lie to me."

"What makes you think I'm lying to you?" France said quietly, drawing back and smiling when his movement made Arthur gasp, "I can't remember a time when I have ever, truly, lied to you."

Arthur muttered something and pressed closer to Francis as the older man pushed into him again, but said nothing that was distinguishable. Francis shook his head, shifting slightly until he had the angle he wanted. Smirking, he thrust inside again, making Arthur whimper in pleasure as he managed to hit that special spot, "Do you like it, England? Admit it." The younger man remained silent, his nails digging into Francis's back as the other pounded into him again. "Admit it!"

England pressed his face against the side of Francis's neck, "Stop teasing me," he murmured, "ah . . ."

"That's a decent enough answer," Francis whispered.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Alfred blinked the sleep from his eyes, sitting up and staring through the darkness at the clock on the wall. It was a little past two in the morning, and he smiled slightly as he glanced down at the soundly sleeping form of Japan. He brushed some of the older country's dark bangs aside, watching the easy rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

His smile slowly slid away as he pushed himself out of bed, heading for the bathroom. False smiles were easy to maintain, but pointless when no one was there to see them. He leaned on the counter around the sink, his head bent as he reached into the drawer to the right. His hands easily found the item, though he hadn't used it in a good twenty or more years. There was never any rust on the steel blade of the pocket knife, probably because it was so rarely used. But he poured some rubbing alcohol over it anyways. Better for it to sting too.

He tore off his shirt, eyeing the various scars on his chest and sides with narrowed eyes. His left hand immediately lowered to the old bullet wound down near his hip, tracing out the still slightly pink edges. With his other hand he tested the edge of the knife with a finger, ignoring the thin cut he received. A country couldn't kill himself or hurt his own people by inflicting self harm. It was some kind of strange, unspoken law. He'd heard about a few trying it and failing. But that wasn't what he wanted to do. Heroes couldn't die anyways.

No, instead, he raised the knife over his chest, slicing a long gash across his heart, then another in the opposite direction. One cut for each bullet he'd shot out of that cursed gun. One scar for each city he'd destroyed. One large, bleeding X over his heart for what he'd done to Kiku.

RANDOM AUTHOR RMABLE

Apparently the chapters are going to keep getting longer. There was more I wanted to write here, but I thought I should save it for next time. And Francis took up all that space again! Bad! (and I cut the sex scene . . . Sorries. My APH sex scenes seem to be more about talking while doing it rather than just plain doing it. But these guys have many problems to sort out!)

Btw, the last bunch of chapters since chapter 3 haven't been beta'd, cause the beta who works on this story was sick. So by the time I give u this chapter, they'll hopefully have been fixed. I keep seeing all these stupid mistakes and going "GAH!" I never catch these things . . . *le sigh*

Anywho . . . I plan to "hit" Germany with a broom next chapter. So, if you want Italy to "hit" him with the broom (yes, THAT broom. Wasn't it underwear in the manga tho? D: ) Review!


	9. Chapter 9

for those of u who got here early, i fuzzed up. (or rather, my beta did by labeling two documents the same, and i didn't know. lolz) pleaze message me with ur reviews then if u pointed this out to me. thankies!

**A Little Drop Of Healing: A Promise of Forever**

"_Heracles, how do you know if you love someone?"  
Greece's dark eyes widened slightly and he rolled over onto his stomach, leaning down and kissing the other man between the shoulder blades, "Dunno. I think that the phrase 'making love' displays it quite clearly."  
Kiku blushed, levering himself up so that his head rested in his hands. "But not everyone who does that sort of things has those kinds of feelings," he pointed out._

"_You're speaking of Francis?" Heracles assumed, trailing a kiss down Japan's bare back, smiling slightly as the other country shivered._

"_Among others," Kiku said, reaching out to pet one of the many cats that had decided to perch at the head of the bed, "You're answer isn't all that valid then Heracles."_

"_Then you're speaking of the future?" the dark haired man questioned, curling his fingers into the back of Kiku's hair and tilting his head up for a light kiss, "I think that in your house they refer to that as the 'thread of fate.' You believe that there is only one true love."_

_Kiku nodded._

_Heracles smiled softly, "Then I'll tell you this, Kiku. The one your string is tied to is not me."_

_Japan looked surprised at this, "What? But I-"_

"_One can love many times in his life, but there can only be one true love," Heracles smiled, "My people believe something similar too. I think that in Arthur's house, they call it 'soul mates.'"_

"_Soul mates?" Kiku whispered, turning brown eyes to the cat once more as he scratched it beneath the chin._

"_It's a pretty term, isn't it," Heracles murmured in his ear, his arms twining around Kiku's waist, "It means that your souls were tied together long before your birth. If you are hurt, then they feel your pain. If you cry, they want to cry with you, even as they hold you in their arms. And if you die, they will follow."_

"_Sounds morbid," Japan muttered, reaching down to interlace his fingers between the ones spread out along his stomach, "But why do you say that you and I are not such?"_

"_Would you risk the lives of your people to protect me? Defy your boss if he forbade you to ever see me again?" he smiled sadly as Kiku grew silent, and did not answer, "The person that would do this for you, and you for him in return . . . I hope I'll get to meet him someday."_

"_Hmm . . . I'm sure you will then. You might have to point him out to me if you find him," Kiku laughed._

"_I probably will," Heracles smiled, drawing the smaller country deeper into his embrace._

Alfred was doing laundry when the doorbell rang. He rushed to answer it, the hamper still in his arms, and somehow managed to trip over absolutely nothing. The clothes went flying into the air and ending up all over his living room. He groaned and stood up, shuffling over to the door and pulling it open slowly, half expecting an angry Arthur to come barging again.

But the visitor wasn't England. In fact, America barely recognized him at all, having only met the man a few times before. But he remembered the odd hat the other was wearing, as well as the strange multitude of cats that were sitting on the front steps behind him. "Erm . . . Good afternoon Greece."

Heracles smiled lazily at him, "And to you as well, America." He lifted a finger, pointing at the other's head, "By the way, you have some underpants stuck to you."

Alfred flung the item off with an embarrassed laugh and opened the door fully, gesturing for the other country to come in. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, eyeing the small parade of cats that pranced inside behind the older man.

Greece had crouched down to pick up a rather round cat, and he turned his eyes up to America with a curious gaze. "You don't have to be so formal, you know?" he smiled.

America sighed in relief, dropping the horribly straight pose he'd been holding, "Good. Can I ask something then?" When Heracles didn't answer, he took that as a yes, "How the heck do you get all those things to follow you around like that?"

"I have no idea," Heracles answered him honestly; staring at the cat he was holding as if he had never thought about it before, "But anyways, I did not come here to discuss cats, America."

Alfred feigned surprise as he led the older country into the kitchen, "Oh? Then why _did_ you come?" He pulled out a chair from the table, offering it for the other to sit. "I mean, it's rare to see you over on this side of the world. Or at all for that matter," he added.

Heracles smiled again, "Kiku is here, is he not?"

"Uh, yeah?" Alfred answered uncertainly, "Did you want to see him? He's sleeping right now, but I'm sure-"

"Don't wake him," Greece murmured, setting some of the cats that were all trying to pile into his lap on the table instead. "He need never know I was here," he smiled, "Anyways, I came here to see you, Alfred."

"Me?" America repeated, running a hand nervously through his sandy-blond hair. "Why?" he grinned, "Did you just want to see a hero in person?"

"No," Heracles laughed, "Though I have been waiting to meet you in person for a very long time, America."

"We've met before . . ." Alfred started.

"But I didn't realize it back then," Greece said, "You're a rather new country, whereas I am rather old. So it wasn't until I heard what had happened to Kiku that I realized it."

"I'm sorry, I have absolutely no idea what you just said," Alfred muttered, blue eyes blank beneath his glasses, "Was that even English?"

Greece seemed to ignore the younger man's remarks and continued on with what he was saying. "You disobeyed your boss's orders by brining him here, didn't you," he said, "Would you protect him with that same determination as well?"

Alfred blinked, rising up from his chair, his hands slamming down on the table, "O-of course! I won't let anyone ever hurt him again! Not even . . ." Brushing a hand across his face, he whispered, "Not even me . . ." He started in surprise as Heracles rested a hand on his head, messing up his hair with a small smirk.

"Someone like you . . . Who is wiling to mark you're heart for him . . . You are definitely that person," he murmured, placing his hand against the left side of the younger country's chest, making Alfred flinch slightly.

"You're spouting gibberish again," he whispered, drawing away from the hand.

Greece smiled at him, striding past America and towards the door, his heard of cats following him. "Look after him," he said softly as he turned his back, stepping out the door, "Because . . . He was once important to me too . . ."

"Uh, yeah . . . Sure," Alfred mumbled, looking thoroughly confused as Heracles left as suddenly as he had arrived. And he still wasn't certain on what they'd even been talking about. The only thing he'd learned from this whole event was that Greece was _weird_.

He wandered back into the living room, picking up the laundry he'd flung everywhere as he made his way towards the bedroom. Kiku was awake when he entered, holding another book and looking at him expectantly. America grinned, setting the laundry down near the bathroom and hopping up onto the bed next to Japan, "Another book?"

Japan held it out towards him, eyes narrowed slightly, "A Tale of Two Cities," he stated.

Alfred laughed, leaning back against the headboard and taking the book from him, "Right then, where shall we start?"

Kiku rolled his eyes as he scooted closer, leaning unconsciously on America's shoulder, "At the beginning, teme."

The blond smiled, propping the book open to the first page, and had just opened his mouth when Japan reached over and pulled something off of his shirt, "America-teme, why are you covered in cat hair?"

"_He need never know I was here." _Alfred smiled, "Oh, that? I got mobbed by a crazy bunch of cats on the way back from the store. I barely escaped with my life! But as you know, a hero always prevails!" When Kiku merely stared at him with the look that obviously stated, "You are insane," he returned his attention to the book, "Right then . . . 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times' . . ."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Italy stared down at the kitchen counter, which was absolutely covered in sugar and flour. "Neh, neh . . . Doitsu's going to be mad . . ." he said to himself, looking over his shoulder as if the blond would suddenly appear behind him. He'd been trying to bake some cookies as a surprise and he had succeeded. Unfortunately, Feliciano wasn't the neatest of people, as Germany often pointed out to him. He left things lying around, like his clothes when he suddenly decided to strip.

But he definitely had to clean this up before the other country returned home, or face the consequences. Those usually coming down to Germany refusing to talk to him, at least until he got so annoyed with Italy begging him to talk that he snapped. And even though that was slightly entertaining, Feliciano feared that one of these days, he'd make Ludwig hate him by doing such things.

So he skipped out of the kitchen in search of a mop, or a rag, or anything that could clean up a mess. Maybe he should find an outfit to wear to match as well. He wondered vaguely if Hungary had anything he could borrow next door, but decided that if Ludwig came home to find him in a maid outfit again, it might get him in even more trouble. Though he did make a mental note to go visit Elizabeth sometime soon; he needed more cute clothes.

He skipped his way into Germany's bedroom, throwing open the closet. Ludwig was a very tidy person, so Italy had no doubt that there'd be something he could use in whatever room he checked. And indeed there was.

One of those vacuum things sat in the sat in the very back, and the auburn haired man eyed it warily. Vacuum cleaners were scary, and they made scary noises. Didn't Ludwig have anything else in here? He stood up on his tiptoes, peering at the shelf over the clothes rack. He grinned, spotting a wooden handle, and jumped up to grab it.

But he was disappointed to see that the broom was unusually small. Like something a child would use, not a grown adult. "Darn," he muttered, spinning it around in his hands lazily. "Why's Doitsu got such a small deck brush sitting around any . . . Ways . . ." his eyes widened and he stared down at the item, nearly dropping it as he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

He remembered when Francis had told him what happened; he remembered it as clearly as he remembered it as clearly as he did his own name.

"_Holy Roman Empire is gone, Italy. I'm sorry."_

"_G-gone? What do you mean?"_

"_He's dead, I'm sure. He disappeared after he fought with Prussia. He's just . . . Gone . . ."_

Feliciano felt his hands begin to shake, and he gripped the broom tighter. Prussia was Germany's brother. He should have seen it sooner. He was so stupid.

At that moment, Ludwig walked into the room, looking startled as he noticed Feliciano sitting on the bed. "Italy, what are you doing? I was sure you'd run off when I saw that horrible mess in the kitchen. Are you-"

The smaller country's eyes narrowed uncharacteristically, their light brown color darkening as Germany spoke. "You lied to me," he whispered.

"Huh?"

Italy held up the deck brush, his whole body shaking with grief and anger now, "You lied to me! You lied to me, Ludwig! You knew who he was all along! You're Prussia's brother, I should have seen it before!"

Ludwig held up his hands defensively, "Wait, Feliciano, hold on a-"

"You killed him! You and Prussia both!" Feliciano screamed, stepping towards him, hitting him with a closed fist on the chest, "You killed him!"

Germany caught his hand, holding him back, "What are you talking about? I've never killed anyone in my life!"

"This belonged to Holy Roman Empire!" Feliciano sobbed, pressing the broom against the taller country's uniform roughly. "Why else would you have it?!" he choked on his words and pushed past the blond, running from the house with a strangled cry.

And Ludwig could only stare after him, feeling hurt and confused. "I . . . Killed him?" he whispered, "How can that be . . ."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Lalalala . . . 11 pm on a schoooool night . . . I hope you're all happy with me. :p anywho . . . Yay Greece! I like him a lot, just not with Japan. He's cool by himself though, hahaha. I think he and Kiku may have had a past relationship, though I can't actually find any historical evidence of them interacting before the 1900's. So ignore my lies please. And silly Italy . . . *sighs* oh well, love is never easy. And neither is realizing that Ludwig isn't a murderer. Prussia, Hungary, and Austria-san should be in the next chapter tho! I love them all. 3


	10. Chapter 10

here, have an extra chapy since i screwed up earlier. :D

**A Little Drop of Healing: Reaching Out**

Hungary had been in the middle of something very important when she heard the quiet sobs. Well, it was important in her opinion. Very important.

"Someone's crying," Prussia stated, pointing out the obvious.

She rolled her eyes, leaning down to adjust the frilly headband she had placed on him, "So? I'm a bit busy right now Gilbert."

Prussia turned his red eyes down, frowning, "Well . . . If you're too busy, then I guess it won't matter if Italy cries his eyes out or-" He smirked as he looked up again, Hungary already dashing towards the door at the mention of her favorite "toy." He stood up, picking up the small yellow chick he'd left on the table and placing it on his head as he skipped after her.

Elizabeth flung the door open wide, and Italy, who had been leaning against it, came tumbling inside. He choked back a sob as he saw the pair standing over him, his eyes widening slightly, "Prussia . . . Why are you wearing a maid outfit?"

The silver haired man grinned broadly, twirling around in the dark blue and white dress, "What, thiiiiis? Hungary and I were playing dress up!" He crouched down beside the other country and held out a hand, "Here, you play too, kay?"

Hungary gasped in surprise as Italy jumped up, slapping the other man's hand away, "F-Feliciano! What are you doing!?"

Italy shook his head fiercely, stepping forwards to bury his face in her dress, "I don't want to see him, or Ludwig! Both of them . . . It's both of their faults!"

"Whoa, wait," Hungary objected, casting a sideways glance at Gilbert, "What did they do, Italy?" But the auburn haired man merely sobbed into her chest.

Prussia, still crouched on the ground, narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of something that the other country had dropped. He picked it up and held it out towards Elizabeth, "Recognize this?" he whispered.

"Oh," she gasped, her arms pulling Italy close, "oh no . . . where did he get that?" She pulled the younger country with her as she followed Gilbert into the living room. Pushing Italy away from her and onto the couch, she kneeled in front of him, "Feliciano, what happened?"

Italy covered his face with his hands, choking back another sob, "I shouldn't have been so trusting . . . L-Ludwig is always telling me that . . . But I shouldn't have trusted him either! I'm so stupid!"

Elizabeth covered Prussia's mouth with a hand, knowing he was about to say something about how right Italy was. "You're not stupid," she assured him, glaring at Prussia as he snorted with laughter behind her hand, "Italy, where did you get this broom?"

Feliciano took the item from where she had placed it beside him on the couch, holding it close. "Germany's closet," he whispered, "He told me he didn't know anything about what had happened to Holy Roman Empire, but he was lying." He turned a darkened gaze to Prussia, "I never trusted you entirely, however."

Prussia pried Elizabeth's hand from his mouth, "Ludwig wasn't lying," he said slowly, earning a warning glare from Hungary, "He wasn't lying at all. He doesn't know anything about Holy Roman Empire."

"Shut up," Feliciano hissed, burying his face in Hungary's dress again, "Why else would he have it!? This was the last thing I gave Holy Roman Empire! That was the last time I saw him! And then _you_ killed him! You and Germany both!"

"Stop yelling, Feliciano," a calm voice broke in suddenly.

Hungary looked up, smiling as she noticed the man leaning against the doorframe, "Roderich."

Austria paced forwards, sitting down beside Italy on the couch, "Feliciano, calm down." He rested his hand on the younger country's head, ruffling his hair softly, "If you heard it from me, would you believe it? Ludwig doesn't know; it isn't a lie."

Feliciano sniffed into Hungary's dress, casting a sideways look at the older man, "Really? He . . . He wasn't there? He had nothing to do with Holy Roman Empire's death?"

The dark haired man's eyes narrowed beneath his glasses at the choice of words Feliciano had used. Tricky little brat, he was smarter than he looked. "No. He was there and, in many ways, he had everything to do with Holy Roman Empire's demise," he stated, "But he doesn't know that."

Feliciano's eyes narrowed a bit, "What do you mean? He did kill him then, right? I don't understand."

"No one killed that little prick," Prussia spoke up suddenly, "I didn't either, Italy, though I understand why you thought that."

Hungary silenced him with another glare, and smiled a bit as she noticed Austria staring at the other man with a frown, eyeing how he was garbed, "Italy, Ludwig has never lied to you. If anyone has . . . It was Roderich and I."

"B-but big brother France said-"

"Think carefully about what he said," Hungary interrupted.

"_He disappeared after he fought with Prussia."_ Disappeared. Vanished. Gone. All those were the words that France had used when Italy had asked over the years."He . . . said Holy Roman Empire had disappeared . . ." he said slowly.

"We're the ones that told him to say that," Austria murmured, "We're the liars here, Italy. Not Ludwig."

Italy stared at him, brown eyes tearing up again, "I still don't understand . . ."

"It's not really our place to tell you, even now," Prussia cut in again. "Hungary, Austria, and I agreed that what we did, all the lies we've told you, that it was all for the best. Holy Roman Empire . . . He wanted to be strong. I think that somewhere deep down, he made the choice he did for himself. Don't blame Ludwig. He's probably as confused as you are."

Hungary shook her head, turning her apologetic gaze back to Italy, "Feliciano . . . I know you'll understand, just not right now. And it isn't our place to explain it to you. Just . . . Just trust Germany. Please. And if you look close enough, I'm sure you'll untangle this mess of lies all on your own. That's how we meant it to be."

It was a few hours later when Hungary answered the door again. It was raining out now; it always seemed to be raining when Feliciano was sad. Maybe that's just how it was with countries. If they were upset, it rained, as if on cue.

Germany was standing on her porch, looking more than a little angry. "He's been here the whole time, hasn't he," he growled. Elizabeth merely smiled at him. "God damn it," he muttered, staring up at the sky, "I thought for sure he'd gone to see Romano. That git lectured me for an hour on how Italy preferred staying at my house . . ." He sighed, "Anyways, can I come in? Or is he still pissed?"

She held the door open for him and he stomped inside, shaking the water from his jacket as he took hit off. "Italy! It's time for you to go home now!' Elizabeth called, smiling at Germany, "You know, Germany . . . I wonder if you'd remember if we hit you over the head again . . ."

"Huh?"

She laughed, ignoring his bemused look as Italy came bounding into the room, his smile back in place and his eyes shining as he caught sight of the blond. "Doitsu!" he cried, leaping at him with outstretched arms. Elizabeth laughed harder as Germany, so taken aback in Italy's sudden change in attitude; fell over when the smaller country launched himself at him.

"I'm sorry," Italy whispered, burying his face against the taller man's neck, "I was mean, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Germany managed to push himself into a sitting position and frowned as he noticed that Italy was wearing a full out school girl outfit. "It's fine," he muttered, ruffling the man's auburn hair, "Anyways, I came to bring you back. If that's all right. Or are you not done playing yet?"

Hungary waved a hand airily at them, "No, no. He can go. I still have Prussia to dress up. And I think I found the key to Roderich's study. So that's fine if you take Italy back."

Ludwig's eyes widened slightly as he heard a cry of, "Noooo! Take me back too, West!" from one of the back rooms.

"You tied him up, didn't you," he muttered, standing up with Italy still clinging to him, "Have fun then. Though I think Austria may have added extra protection besides just a locked door by now."

She snapped her fingers in the classic "darn" motion, "You're probably right about that. Shoot. Maybe the window then?"

The blond sidestepped out the door as she was momentarily distracted with plans of capturing her husband. Closing it softly behind him, he stared down at Italy for a moment, before scooping him up and into his arms.

Feliciano gasped in surprise, "Wah! L-Ludwig, you really don't have to carry me, it's right next door and-" Germany ignored him, walking towards his house slowly as the smaller country fidgeted in his arms, "Ludwig, really I can-"

"You scared me," the blond whispered suddenly.

"What?"

Germany set him down as he entered the house, "Today . . . You really scared me. I thought you weren't going to come back this time."

Feliciano blinked in confusion, then smiled, "Neh, neh, Doitsu. I'll always come back! I promise," he held out his pinky towards the taller man.

A slight smile pricked at the corners of the blonde's mouth, and he hooked his own pinky around Feliciano's, "Right. We did promise." He took half a step back in surprise as Italy suddenly held out the deck brush towards him, "Wait, what?"

"It's yours now, isn't it?" Feliciano smiled, "I'm okay with letting you have it."

His smile faltered briefly as he grasped the broom handle between his hands, but he held it in place as the blond took it. The motion, even the slight brush of Ludwig's hand against his own as he gave him the broom. It felt familiar. He shook his head, and grinned at the taller man, "I'm going to sleep in Doitsu's bed tonight, kay?"

"Wha- no!" Germany exclaimed, but Italy had already run off into the house. "At least wear some pajamas then!" he yelled after him, though he was sure that that the smaller man was out of hearing range by now. Or would just ignore him. He turned his gaze down to the broom in his hands, his blue eyes softening. It was, after all, the only thing he had from before he'd woken in Prussia's house that day and it was something he treasured. Though the thought that it used to belong to Holy Roman Empire made him uneasy. Somehow, he knew that even if he hadn't killed the boy Italy had loved, it was still his fault.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"So how are you feeling today?" Alfred asked as he sat on the edge of the bed with another hamper full of clean laundry.

Kiku looked up from the newspaper he was flipping through, a little surprised at the question, "Huh? I'm not sure what you mean . . ."

America grinned, "Well, I'm running out of food, so I was going to go shopping. Are you up for coming along?" He took something out of the hamper and held it up for Japan to see, "Look, I got this for you the other day too. It's the right size I think."

Japan took the clothes from him. A dark blue sweater and some nice pants of reasonable size. At least he wouldn't look completely ridiculous in them. "We'll see," he replied, holding the sweater up to his chest to check the size. Turning his eyes to America again, he glared, "Out. I can't change if you're sitting there. Leave."

The blond made a face at him and scootched off the edge of the bed, sidling out the door and closing it. He waited a few moments before opening it again, smirking as he saw Japan sitting on the side of the bed in the new pants, yet minus the sweater. "Need help?" he asked lightly.

The dark haired man sighed, and held his arms out for America to slip the sweater over them. "Until I can lift my arms higher than this, yes," he muttered. "How far is this store of yours? I can't walk so far still; it's exhausting."

America laughed a bit, "Daijobu, I have that figured out."

Kiku's eyes widened slightly as he followed the taller man out of the room, "You know Japanese?"

The blond shrugged, "A tiny bit. I'm not that stupid." He grinned, ignoring the look Japan gave him when he said that last part, "Anyways, I got a gift from my boss the other day, it's really cool." He led the way out of the house and pointed to something sitting on his front walk, "See?"

Kiku stared at the thing, "A bike?"

"A motorcycle," the blond corrected, "It's cool right? I don't think your country has them yet." He lifted Kiku up onto the back of the thing, laughing when the other muttered something in Japanese at him. Climbing up in the front, he glanced over his shoulder at the shorter man, "You might want to hang on to me, kay?"

Japan looked at him nervously, "Why?"

"Cause I haven't used one of these things before!" America laughed, kicking the motorcycle into gear.

"What?!?!" the other country yelled in alarm as the blond revved the bike forwards. His arms wrapped around America's waist as they barreled down the hill from the house and he cursed against the number fifty on the man's jacket as he closed his eyes and pressed his face into the other's back. They were going to die. He just knew it.

"I can't believe you totaled that thing," Japan muttered as they left the store, which now had a nice sized hole in its side wall, "Into that old couple's store, no less."

"What? I paid them a repair fee and said they could keep the bike," America shrugged, "Anyways . . . We have to walk now. Are you sure you'll be okay? I can carry you if you'd like." He flinched slightly as Japan shot him a glare.

"No," the older country said, "You'd just drop me."

"Eh? No way! I told you before that I-"

Japan glared at him again, reaching out an arm to steady the other country as he tilted sideways, "You idiot, you're all off balance! I saw you hit your head on the handlebars when we crashed. You probably have a concussion!"

America waved his hand at him, "No, no . . . Heroes don't get concussions! I'm totally fine!" He wobbled a bit as they walked, and his smile fell slightly, "I think . . ."

Kiku rolled his eyes and held out his hand, "Put the groceries in your other hand, America-teme." He waited as the other man did so; his hand still held out towards him, "Now take my hand."

The blond blinked owlishly at him, "What?"

"If I hold onto you from this side and the bags are on the other side, you'll be evenly balanced," Kiku explained in a tone that said, "stupid."

Alfred took his hand, smiling, "Holding hands? Okay!"

"T-that's not why I'm doing this!" Kiku stuttered.

America ignored this remark as they continued down the road, "Everyone wants to hold hands with the hero!"

"You're insane," Kiku muttered under his breath as Alfred swung their clasped hands back and forth between them. But he wasn't mad. In fact, their hands together, it was warm, and comforting. But he'd never admit that. "Teme, don't swing that bag, there's milk in there!" he snapped as Alfred started to twirl the bag around with his other hand.

"But it won't spill cause I'm awesome!" America laughed.

"I'm starting to think you hit your head a bit harder than I first thought," Kiku muttered.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

So . . . Rereading some of the Hetalia strips I have stashed all over the place on my laptop, and decided to read the America's Ghost Situation again. The more you watch the anime I think, the more u should go back and read. It gets funnier somehow. Specially cause I noticed at the end of one of those strips, when Japan gives America the scary games, America says, "So Japan, do you want to sleep togeth-" and then Kiku runs for it. Hahahahaha. *points* CANNON peoples! I'm sure the actual translation may have been "sleep over" but, same thing. O 3O

Yaaayyyy Italy though. And I got to write about Hungary too, one of the only girl characters I like in anime. :p I made her kinda sadistic with those outfits though, lols. But I can see her doing that, and she has too. Remember that many of Italy's outfits are ones she gave him, and he dresses like a girl. And then when she made Austria wear the cat ears . . . Hahaha. And I read somewhere about something with Germany in a maid outfit? I've never actually seen that strip, if anyone has that one, send it to me please! It's one of the rare ones I think. = 3=

And the guide here, almost forgot to add it.

Austria - Roderich (human name) I had to look this one up. :p he has a funny name, him and Gil both. (Alfred too. I keep wanting to call him Al. But then in my head, a tiny Ed yells at me.)

Hungary - Elizabeth (human name) I'm not entirely sure this is right, so say so if it's not.

Prussia -Gilbert (human name)

England will show up again next chapter, and will be more than a little confused on many issues. And our "bad guys" will appear again! FINALLY! (anyone else see Russia and China dressed as Team Rocket when I call them the bad guys?)

Review to lure Russia back! (Actually, he's probably having tons of fun right now with China, but we need him for plot. Review to make me DRAG him back.)


	11. Chapter 11

**A Little Drop Of Healing: If You Hold My Heart **

England couldn't think of a morning worse than this one. The second he opened his eyes, the light from the window nearly blinded him, making him realize that he had a pounding headache. It had been years since he'd had a hangover this bad, probably not since the last Great War. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the sunlight stabbed relentlessly at his eyelids, making his head buzz painfully. Rolling over, he buried his face into his pillow as a wave of nausea washed over him. Oh good lord, he was going to hurl if he didn't get up right now.

Pushing himself up with a groan, he vowed never to drink again. Not that that ever worked. He was lucky if an oath like that lasted a year. He put his feet on the ground and forced himself off the bed, then immediately fell back down into the blankets.

"Oh bloody hell! Why did that hurt so bad?" he tried to stand again, a throbbing pain lacing through his lower back, making him feel more sick than before. He stumbled to the bathroom, trying to ignore the pain, and gasped as he passed the mirror, "Oh god. Why am I naked?" He knew he had a bad hangover if he hadn't realized that the moment he'd woken up.

As he kneeled near the toilet, elbows on its seat, trying his best not to throw up, his mind whirled. He couldn't remember anything. But he had a few clues. "Okay, it's all right. I'm sure I remember what happened, I have to," he muttered, "Let's see . . . Naked. Not that that hasn't happened before. Actually, about one out of two times. And back pains . . . Lower back pains." He stared down at the water in the toilet, thinking. He _really_ should know what that meant, but the pounding in his head made it hard to think. How did one get lower- "Oh fuck," he cursed and then he really did hurl.

After a few moments he was able to successfully raise his head again, resting it in his hands, "God save the Queen. What happened to me last night?" He knew well enough what had happened, it wasn't the first time he'd let someone into his bed, though it was usually one of the ladies of his country, and it had been nearly two hundred years since the last time. Not since he was a hormonal adolescent. But this time . . . Well, if back pains said anything, a man had been his partner this time.

He stood up on unsteady legs, going to the sink to wash out his mouth and brush his teeth. Maybe he could just forget everything, not that he already hadn't. It didn't really matter who he's been with, did it? Not when the person had already left. He stared at his reflection, trying to decide if that bothered him or not. That's when he noticed it.

His hand flew to his neck, searching desperately for the chain that wasn't there. "It's gone . . ." he whispered in horror, rushing out into the bedroom, back pains or not. He threw all the blankets off the bed, shaking them out for a sign of the item. Then he got down on his hands and knees, scouring the floor and beneath the bed. But it was no where to be found. He even checked the laundry, where his clothes from the night before were, how they'd got there, he didn't want to know. But he couldn't find it. It was gone. The ring with the tiny flower petals pressed neatly inside the glass was gone.

He flopped back down on the bed, defeat washing over him. How could he have lost it? God he was an idiot. He glared at the ceiling, a thought occurring to him. Could the man he'd been with last night have taken it? Why? It wouldn't mean anything to them, would it? And if they'd somehow been jealous about the ring, they surely would have stayed until the next morning at least. Right?

He rolled over, grabbing the phone off the side of the bed as he let out a groan from another stab of pain in his head. He spun the rotary dial flinching from the irritating clicking sound it made, and rested his face against the pillow again. It rang four times before someone answered and Arthur didn't even wait for them to ask who was calling.

"Francis. Hangover medicine. Now," he muttered into the receiver, the sound half muffled by the fact that he hadn't lifted the pillow from his face.

On the other side of the phone, Francis sighed, "Okay, sure. Be there in half an hour."

Half an hour always seemed to long to Arthur, but he tried not to complain. At least he managed to pull a large t-shirt on and some boxers before Francis came over. That was an accomplishment, if he said so himself.

"Wow, you actually remembered to get dressed this time," France remarked as he cam into the bedroom, noticing that Arthur was lying face down on the bed again. He smirked slightly raising his voice a bit more than normal volume, "How's that headache!"

England raised a hand towards him for the medicine, groaning into the pillow in response. Francis laughed loudly, earning himself a dark glare from the younger country in response, but he handed over the medicine. Arthur chugged the small bottle in a matter of seconds and returned to his defeated, exhausted position on the bed. The older country hesitantly sat down beside him, reaching out to ruffle his hair gently, "Hey, you okay?"

"No," Arthur whispered, "It's not often that I completely forget an entire night's events. I can't . . . I can't even remember who I slept with last night. How bad is that?" He laughed a bit, a harsh, fake laugh, "I'm such an idiot."

Francis smiled sadly, still running his fingers through England's hair in a soothing motion. "That's fine though, I happen to like idiots," he grinned as Arthur shot him a glare, "And anyways, I know for a fact that lots of people have mornings like this."

"People in your house maybe," England muttered, rolling over when Francis nudged his shoulders until he lay with his head in the older country's lap.

"Oui. But as I recall, I've never once had a hangover so bad I lost my memory. Though you seem to have one once a year," he smiled, brushing Arthur's bangs from his eyes as the other scowled up at him, "So, should we play the 'guess who England slept with last night' game?"

"Gah, bloody hell," Arthur muttered, covering his face with his hands, "Fine, until the medicine knocks me out like it always does, shoot."

"Spain?"

"Bleh, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if it was that guy. Oh god, I'm going to have nightmares about that now. Definitely not."

"Hmm . . . Maybe Seychelles? You better not . . ."

"According to the fact that I have a nice pain near my bum, I'd say my partner was male," England replied icily, "So no."

"Well, we can rule America out, can't we," France smiled, still running his fingers through Arthur's hair, watching as the other growled under his breath. "So . . . Maybe Australia? You and he are on fair terms now, right?"

"Ugh, hell no. I don't even let that wanker within my line of sight, let alone into my bed. Hate him."

France continued naming different people, even going so far as to mention a few of the butlers that worked at the house off and on until England fell asleep, the after effects of the hangover solution taking their toll. The blond smiled at him as he listened to his soft snores, pulling something out of his pocket and placing it on his finger, looking at the flower petals pressed beneath the glass sadly. He turned his attention to Arthur again, leaning down and brushing his lips briefly against the younger country's.

"Je t'aime."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"Eww . . . Pancakes again? Is that the only half decent food you can make, Teme?" Japan complained as he walked into the kitchen, leaning on the taller country's back so that the blond nearly burned himself on the pan.

"What? What's wrong with pancakes?" America asked, trying to maintain his balance as Japan continued to lean on him, obviously intent on seeing if he really could make the other fall onto the stove.

"They're full of sugar, and I can't believe you insist on putting syrup on them as well. And . . ." he leaned more against Alfred's back, smirking as he peered over his shoulder, "Are those chocolate chips in there this time? How much do you weigh again?"

Alfred made a horrified face, "Wha? Don't question a hero's weight! I'm a sensitive guy you know!" He huffed, glancing at the pancakes, "Fine, what else would you like to eat, oh king of healthy foods."

"Rice," Kiku said immediately, "I'm tired of all your silly American food. I want some good home cooked rice."

The blond rolled his eyes, "And by 'home cooked,' I assume you mean, 'not made by America.'"

"You'd burn it, I'm sure," Kiku replied, looking smug, "So do you have any Japanese restaurants around here? And I mean authentic, none of that idiocy run by you Americans."

"There's one a few blocks away, not too far to walk, if you'd like," Alfred answered after a moments thought. "But . . . I haven't been there in a few years . . . Not since . . ." he smiled sadly. "Never mind. Anyways," he turned off the burner, tossing the pancakes into the trash, "Go grab one of those pairs of pants I got for you the other day, and I'll be in a minute."

Kiku didn't question the reason he hadn't said to get a shirt too and went into the bedroom to pull on a pair of pants, choosing one of America's instead of his own, since the loose fitting clothing was warmer and it was growing cold outside. It was only a few minutes until Alfred came in, holding the first aid kit and a roll of gauze. It was almost routine between them now.

Alfred knelt down on the bed in front of the older country, slowly undoing the bandages around his chest and stomach, revealing the large scabs beneath. He pulled a jar of thick, pale yellow gel out of the first aid kit, rubbing some of the stuff around the red, irritated edges of the scabs, noticing Kiku shiver. "Does it still hurt?" he whispered.

"Not as much, no," Japan said quietly, his hands clenching into the blankets on the bed.

The blond smiled sadly, beginning to wind the new gauze bandages around Kiku's torso, "I'm so-"

His words were cut off as Kiku placed two fingers in front of his mouth, but the dark haired man said nothing more as Alfred finished redoing the bandages. He lifted his arms out in front of him, waiting as America helped him slip on a shirt, before they headed outside to the restaurant.

"Earlier . . . You said something about not having been here in years," Japan said as they walked, "Why is that?"

"Well, no ones been there since . . ." his smile fell, "Well, since you attacked me, Kiku. My boss back then, Roosevelt . . . My people were scared, Kiku. They were so scared after that, so my boss sent all of the Japanese people, native born or not, to concentration camps."

"What?" Japan said in disbelief, "But that's-"

America looked away, "I know! It's exactly like what happened with Germany and what that horrible man did to all those people. But we didn't hurt them, I swear! They were released as soon as the war was over . . ." He stopped, swallowing hard, he hadn't meant to mention the end of the war, since the way he'd had to end it was the thing he regretted the most.

Japan's dark eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent. And there was only a few moments of hesitation before he moved, reaching out to take America's hand.

Alfred looked up, startled, "Wha-"

"Aren't we going out to eat? I'm starving, Teme," Kiku muttered, continuing to walk down the sidewalk, pretending to ignore the surprised little squeak from the blond as he dragged him down the street.

"Okay, close your eyes again," Kiku instructed, waiting until the blond did so before he picked something off the plate with his chopsticks, examining it a moment. "Good, say 'ah,' now," he smirked as the taller country obeyed and popped the food into his mouth.

America made a face as he opened his eyes and chewed, "Eww . . . What was that one? It was sour! Sour things shouldn't be in anything but candy!"

"Pickled plum. A really little one," Japan replied, "Now close your eyes again."

Alfred grumbled something about nasty Asian food, but complied, opening his mouth before Kiku even asked. Japan stuck something else into his mouth, laughing as Alfred gagged and nearly spit it back out, "Good grief, what was that one? It was slimy and tasted like a booger!"

"And how would you know what a booger tastes like?" Japan smirked, watching as the blond went bright red and started protesting loudly, "It was raw squid."

The blond looked horrified, "I'm not letting you do that again! No way, no way!"

Japan laughed, picking something else up from his plate and popping it into America's open mouth before he could protest.

America automatically chewed it, and swallowed, looking somewhat satisfied, "Hmm . . . That one wasn't half bad. What was it?"

"Sakura mochi," Kiku replied, "Now close your eyes again."

The taller country gave him a suspicious look, "It's not going to be anything nasty, right?"

"No . . . Of course not," Japan smiled, "Why would I ever do that?" He held back a laugh as America closed his eyes and opened his mouth, looking down at his plate to see what else would make the blond cringe. He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to enjoy the idiot's company. If nothing else, he was entertaining, in an Italy sort of way. "Okay, try this one," he said, putting a large, whole radish into the other's mouth.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Russia picked up the phone on the first ring, smiling in triumph before he even heard the words from the caller, "Good, thank you. How long until they can be mass produced? Yes, that's all right." He paused, listening for a moment, "Yes, of course. I'll have my boss call him and set up the negotiations." He hung up before the person on the other side could continue the conversation; he hated talking to people he disliked, even if they were helping him to fulfill his goal.

"Good news, aru?" China asked, looking up from the book he was reading on the other side of the couch.

"Yes. It seems that they've figured out the last bit of the formula for those weapons that hurt your brother," Ivan drawled, leaning over to kiss his lover on the cheek. "Though it'll be nearly a year until we can stock up in any sort of quantity. As long as we have one, that's more than enough for the word to spread."

"Of course," Yao confirmed, smiling as Ivan undid his hair tie, "But isn't the plan to actually kill him eventually? Not just scare him? Even though your house isn't that far from his, it's too far from the capital and the main targets to give him more than a bad scare. He still holds the upper hand with that base they're building in Turkey."

Ivan smiled, "Yes, I know. But it seems that that his neighbor might be on our side. There are more countries that hate that idiot than he realizes."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Lalalala . . . I was snowed in for the past few days. And as some of you may know, I have no internet at my house, so joy of joys. So basically, I was insanely bored. But I wrote you a new chapter while working on my English essay veeeeerrryyyy lazily. :p And watched useless anime. Like Kodocha and Kyokara Maoh.

I really loved the scene between England and France here, they're so cute. :D :D

Russia-chan is referring to Cuba when he says "America's neighbor." And Russia's evil, so basically . . . Japan's time with America is wearing down. Things are about to get hectic as the world realizes the shit they've gotten themselves into.

But not to worry! This fic is all about the AmericaxJapan! (since this pair seriously need some love!) And their fluffiness will never end! (neither will this fic, anytime in the foreseeable future. Aka, this year.) However, Italy-chan might be taking up a good deal of the story a few chapters from now, same with Francis. (not that he doesn't already, narcissistic prev.)

One last thing. In case any of you don't know French or Japanese, here's a guide to a few things they've said the past few chapters.

Je Te'aime - I love you

Daijobu - it's all right

Teme -bastard (Naruto fans should know this one.)

If there were any others I forgot to mention, let me know.


	12. Chapter 12

**A Little Drop Of Healing: You Gave Me A Promise**

America had to practically leap over the entire bed to reach the phone before the last ring. Usually, he just let it ring this early in the morning, hoping the person would call back later. But his gut feeling as the phone woke him up told him that he couldn't do that this time. Throwing the covers off, he jumped over Japan, who was still fast asleep, and tripped over the remainder of the blankets, falling flat on his face on the opposite side of the bed.

"Ow, ow, ow," Alfred whined, rubbing his nose with the hand that wasn't holding the phone.

"America? Is everything all right?" the person on the other side asked, voice monotone. Alfred couldn't tell if the question was out of politeness or not.

"Yes, fine," he groaned. He hadn't expected to hear this voice again so soon. "At least you're calling before you come parading into my house with your cat entourage again," he muttered.

On the other side of the line, Greece laughed, "Ah, I'm afraid I won't be going anywhere anytime soon, America. Forgive me, but I've actually called to ask for your help . . ."

The blonde's eyes widened in surprise, "What? Are you in some sort of trouble?"

There was a long pause before the older country spoke, "My people . . . We used to be strong, long ago. But I am no longer young, America. I'm not sure I can resist for very long. This is no longer the age of warriors and heroes."

Alfred smiled, "But I'm a hero. Anything you need, go ahead and ask."

"Yes, well . . . I'm afraid it's not good news that I bring," Greece said slowly. "It's . . . Turkey and I; we're being pushed to join Ivan," he hesitated, "He's . . . he's saying that if we don't side with him, he'll obliterate us off the map."

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously, "What does he mean by that? It's nearly impossible to just . . ." He fell short, a sickening though occurring to him.

Heracles picked up the missing pieces from the younger country's sentence, "He says that . . . That he's developed nuclear weapons," he whispered, as if the words were some sort of taboo.

"No," Alfred choked out the word, "He said that he . . . That can't be! We kept the method a secret! No one was supposed to know!"

"Apparently he has supporters among your people," Greece murmured.

Alfred shook his head fiercely, "Damn it. I knew that this could happen, the way people have been talking lately. I thought . . . I thought they were just scared. I didn't think it could be true." He rested his head in his hands, trying to stop them from shaking. "Okay, all right. Everything's going to be fine," he sighed, his mind whirling, "How long can you hold out? What I have in mind might take some time."

"I . . . A year, less if he keeps pushing like this. Turkey isn't as strong, I'll be looking after him too, so don't take longer than you really have to," Greece was quiet for a moment, "Please, America. I'm begging you."

"I know. But it'll take more than just me to hold him off, you know that. I'm too far away. I have to talk to my boss, pass the idea through congress, and then talk to some other countries. Hold out for as long as you can. If possible, I'll try to send a small, unnoticeable bit of reinforcements within the month. A special team."

There was a relieved sigh, "Thank you," Heracles whispered, genuine relief in his monotone voice, "And America . . ." There was a pause, "I'm sure you know what's best for him . . . But . . . Japan, he's too weak still, his people are still recovering from . . . Everything." He left the true meaning behind the words out, but he knew that the other country would understand, "I've been around long enough to know that the world's about to go to hell all over again. He'll _die_ if he gets caught up in this."

"Wh-" America's voice halted in shock, "What are you saying?" But there was no reply except the click of the line being disconnected. He was silent for a few moments, fear rising in him. Greece was never wrong, he knew the stories; the man still spoke with the gods, that's what the other countries said. He wasn't wrong, and the dread America felt now was not only his own, but his people's too.

"What are you doing on the floor?" a slightly annoyed, slightly amused voice asked.

Kiku had sat up in bed, and was staring down at Alfred curiously, rubbing sleep from his eyes. America struggled free from his tangled position on the floor, the majority of the blankets retaining their stranglehold on his ankles as he climbed back up onto the mattress. He sat in front of Japan for a minute, the last of his thoughts fitting themselves into a coherent order.

The dark haired man gasped in surprise as America suddenly leaned forward, pulling him into a tight embrace. Half startled, half scared, he struggled briefly, but the blond didn't loosen his hold, "A-America-teme! What are you doing?!"

"Be quiet and listen to me for a moment," Alfred whispered in his ear, "This is important." He swallowed, pulling Kiku closer, his shoulders and arms starting to shake with the terror and anguish that began to envelop him, "Kiku . . . I'm going to take you home tonight. Until then, you can't leave my side. When you get home, rebuild your land and house. Make your people and economy strong again, and have no contact with me, _ever_. And if Ivan or Yao comes anywhere near you, claim neutrality. You have to stick to that. You must remain neutral, understood?"

Japan's eyes widened, his hands clenching into the back of America's night clothes, "Wh-what are you talking about? I . . . My boss is supposed to sign an alliance with you, like Germany and Italy did and-"

"No!" Alfred burst out, "You have to claim neutrality! No matter what, you have to! The world's about to absolutely explode again and it's too soon for you to get stuck between the two sides."

"Two . . ." Kiku's voice caught in his throat, "My . . . Brother. What's going on? I heard you saying something about this the other day when your boss came over." He shivered, "Aniki and Russia . . . They're so close to my house . . ."

"That's why you have to stay neutral. If you say anything about these last few months, they'll kill you, Kiku. And if you side with them . . ." Alfred let the sentence hang, closing his eyes as blood clouded his vision. Even if he died because of it, he didn't think he could do that ever again. Not to Japan, not to anyone. "Get dressed," he whispered, pulling away and sliding off the bed, "I have things to do and, until I can arrange for a way to get you home, you need to stay at my side."

Japan sat in stunned silence as America went into the bathroom, watching as the door locked behind the blond. His vision swam, and he couldn't make sense of anything he'd heard. Still in a daze, he pulled on some of America's pants, not caring that they were much too big. The other country emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, smiling as he noticed Japan in his pants.

"I thought you hated them," he said quietly, digging one of his shirts out from the closet and helping the older country slip it on.

Kiku shook his head, "Its fine . . ." He looked up at him, his mind still buzzing with confusion and fear, "A-America-san . . . Do we have to go see your boss now?"

Alfred nodded, leading the way through the hallway and out of the house. "It's not too far," he stated, his eyes going onto automatic, scanning the area in a three-sixty motion for any signs of danger. He didn't think he'd be falling back into war habits so quickly. His right hand swung loosely at his waist, barely a hair's breadth at all times from the gun hidden beneath his pilot jacket. He shouldn't have let it go this long without realizing that Russia had been completely serious. His trust in the man who had once been one of his closest allies had been waning for years. He hadn't been able to fully look Ivan in the eye since his Nicholas had been murdered. Something dark and corrupted twisted through a country when something so horrible like that happened, Alfred knew from experience. He'd seen it in himself, more than once, though he'd kept his sanity for the most part. He'd seen it in England when he'd claimed independence. And worst of all . . . He'd seen it in France, in the late 1700's.

He thought for sure that the man was going to end up killing himself from his people's turmoil. But England had somehow managed to hold him together by pushing at his borders. If anything, the French had always hated the English. It was all that kept Francis sane.

But America had let this go too long. He'd trusted Ivan too much and hadn't seen what was slowly happening. It was too late to try and turn it around.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

By the time Germany pulled the car to a stop outside America's house, Italy was asleep, laying across his lap and out cold. He rolled his eyes, "I really wish you'd wear a seatbelt, Feliciano," he said as he untangled the smaller country from around his waist, "What if we got in an accident?"

"But Doitsu is a safe driver," Italy mumbled sleepily, yawning.

The blond looked out of the car window, eyes narrowed, "Yes . . . But . . ." He closed his mouth. Worrying Italy now would be stupid. He couldn't say that it had taken more than an hour to get here because he'd been taking detours. They had been followed and, while Italy was sleeping, Ludwig had broken his 'safe driving' rule trying to shake the pursuers off.

His attention flicked back to America's house as the door opened and his hand strayed to Italy's hair, absently brushing it back from the other man's eyes as he started to drift off in his lap again. Alfred emerged, carrying a small suitcase that probably contained Japan's things. Ludwig rolled the window down, taking it from him with a hesitant smile.

Alfred grinned, leaning on the doorframe, head inside the car. "Thank you, Germany. I owe you one," he whispered, "I hope it's not too much trouble."

Ludwig tilted his head to the side a bit, "We were followed. I shook them off, so it should be all right for now. But . . ." He glanced down at Italy, sound asleep on his lap again, "I heard some things . . . I'm worried, America. I'm still not in any condition to-"

"I have it all figured out," Alfred interrupted, waving a hand in the air absently, as though it didn't matter, "I'll arrange a meeting within the month. And I already have more men on their way to your territories. "

Germany was silent a minute, blue eyes wavering with uncertainty, "You . . . You say that as if we're old friends. You shouldn't have any reason to put any trust in me."

"Your boss is dead, Ludwig. And you need to act stronger than that. It's not the boss who shapes the country . . ." his eyes clouded, thinking of Ivan, "It's your duty to look after your people, more so than his. You have to do what you think is right." He hesitated, "I know . . . I know he kept you in the dark about what he did to the Hebrew people . . . But . . . That doesn't mean it's your fault." He smiled again, glancing over his shoulder at the house, "Anyways, I'll go get Kiku. I shouldn't keep you sitting out here after all."

Ludwig watched as America hurried back into the house, his fingers running through Italy's bangs again. The auburn haired man blinked his eyes open, a small smile playing in the corners of his mouth. "He has a good heart, Germany," he whispered, leaning into the other country's touch, "He somehow . . . Always knows what he needs to say to make everything seem all right again . . ."

The blond nodded, "I know. And I trust him for it." He looked up again as the door swung open again.

Japan stood in the light cast by the house, looking at the car with hesitation in his dark eyes. America leaned in the doorway, his hand near the gun hidden on his hip, silent as Kiku took a few slow steps towards the car

But after that, it was as if the older country was frozen to the spot; he didn't make any attempt to get any closer to the car. The Japan that had been an Axis was not the same Japan that stood on America's front lawn, and the realization made him feel weak. He couldn't move forward, and he couldn't go back. There was no more road for him to follow.

Alfred watched him, blue eyes glazing over as he spoke, "Kiku, come here."

Kiku turned, taking the few steps it took until he stood in front of the blond. He knew he was shaking, but it wasn't for the same reason he had when he'd first come here. He was scared, yes, but not of the same country. He started as the heavy pilot jacket was placed on his shoulders and America rested his head on top of the smaller country's, keeping a slight distance between them.

"Get into that car, and don't look back. Remember everything I told you, and you'll be okay," Alfred's voice shook slightly as he pushed the other away from him, "Keep that, it's a gift." He spun Kiku around, shoving him gently towards the car.

Italy climbed into the back seat as Japan entered the car, sitting down beside him and hugging him tight. "Ne, Nihon . . ." he whispered, rocking the other country back and forth as they pulled away from the house, "Are you crying? Please don't cry, or I'll cry too."

Kiku shook his head, forcing back a sob and rubbing his eyes, "No . . . w-why would I do something so silly over that Teme? I . . . I don't know why . . ." He leaned forward, fingers tangling into the front of Italy's sailor fuka, "I don't know why this hurts! It shouldn't hurt! I hate him! I hate him!" He gasped and choked on his tears, burying his face against Italy's chest.

Feliciano tightened his hold on his companion, "I know . . . I know," he murmured, closing his eyes as Japan sobbed.

And Kiku didn't look back.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Ummm . . . Is it horrible of me if I absolutely bawled while writing this entire chapter? *sniffs* anywho . . . As I said before, Italy and Francis will be taking up a good portion of this story for the next few years. (twentyish to be exact) so like, six chapters? As a rough guess. :] we're settling in on the drama portion of the story, and I'm thinking about changing the summary a bit to fit more. =3 (if you have any suggestions, suggest away!)

This entire chapter took too much planning and research for my liking. :p I couldn't remember if Germany and Italy were entirely on America's side in the Cold War or not. Gah. But I saw Germany's name in the list of the NATO peeps when I pulled out my history book. (yyaaaayyy AP classes . . .) so I assume Italy was in NATO too. (where Ludwig goes, Italy follows after all. Hahahahahahaha!) and anyone who mentions the Berlin wall, be's stabbed. Cause that will come up next chapter. The thing about Turkey, Greece, and Russia is true, btw. That's how we got our missiles in Turkey after all! :d I'm trying to be as historically accurate as possible. (which means I can't sell my history book on eBay. Dang.)

Ah, almost forgot. This chapter's based on the song "You Gave Me A Promise," By Fireflight. But after hearing that, I was able to work out the last part of this chapter. Which made me tear up just listening to the song.

And finally . . . Pixiv is my god. I found so much good fanart there today! Gah! They have FrUk out the wazoo! *hint, Angel, hint* and I picked up enough AmericaxJapan to make a book. Wooooott! I'm sure all of you know what a pain that stuff is to find.

Review to make me write more angsty fluff!

U did a really good job being historically accurate, yes I know u used ur history book, but very nice. I don't have much else to say besides that.


	13. Chapter 13

**A Little Drop Of Healing: I'd Come For You**

His house seemed eerily quiet and deserted when he entered it. It had been months since he'd been there, but it still should have felt like home. Yet it didn't. It felt too empty, too lonely, too dark. At least, until Italy flipped on the lights before he skipped into the front room.

The auburn haired man gave Kiku a carefree smile, grabbing his hands and leading him into the house, laughing. He pulled Japan into the main room, hesitating slightly as they passed a spot on the carpet that was darker than the area around it. The blood was gone, but the stain remained, though the neat-freak Germany had scrubbed at that floor for nearly a day. Italy turned his gaze back to Japan, studying the older man's face as the walked past the place.

But Kiku hardly gave the spot more than a sideways glance, allowing Italy to drag him into the bedroom. Feliciano plopped down on the older country's futon, taking the small suitcase that he was holding from him. "Here, I'll help you unpack, kay? Oh, and Doitsu and I washed your futon for you and stuff, so try not to strain yourself; we'll help out with chores and such," he popped open the suitcase, setting it between them as Kiku sat down on the other side of the futon.

Japan only nodded, beginning to pull some clothes out of the suitcase and placing them in the drawers a few feet away. His mind couldn't seem to form any words. At least none that made sense. Even with Italy here in his room and Germany in the next, probably examining the stain to try and figure out another method of removing it, his house still seemed empty. Closing the drawer, his eyes rose to the window above the dresser, and he shivered. From here, he could see the distant lights of Yao's house easily. When he was younger, it was a bit comforting, knowing that if he was ever in trouble, his brother wasn't far away. But now, he was too close.

A thought occurred to him, and he hurried out of the room to the kitchen on the other side of the house, leaning heavily against the window there as he peered out into the darkness. After a few moments, he sighed quietly in defeat. He didn't know what he was hoping for looking out that window. To see the even farther lights of America's house? No, he knew that was impossible. And it wouldn't bring him any security either. Without an alliance to the blond, if something happened to Kiku, America would never know. Staying neutral like this, he could die without anyone noticing for days.

He sucked in heavy breath, trying to summon back his courage. He was a samurai, he shouldn't be afraid of death. Why would he have any reason to? Death was natural, it happened, it couldn't be avoided, it wasn't something he had feared before. Why should he start now? Nothing had changed, had it?

"We'd miss you if you had died then," a quiet voice spoke up from behind him.

Japan turned, blinking at Feliciano in surprise. Sometimes the things that came out of that boy's mouth made him seriously wonder if he could read minds or something. Or if playing the idiot was all an act. But Italy simply smiled at him, the same way he always did, as if he'd said nothing out of the ordinary. "We're your friends, Kiku. We're like family. I don't want you to die. I've . . . I've lived through enough death," he looked away, his eyes distant, "You know?"

Kiku nodded, lowering his head. Though he and Feliciano were about the same age, the slightly younger country had been through more than he had in many ways. Japan had never had anyone close to him die, whereas Italy had watched helplessly as two people had cared for simply vanished, never to return. Maybe that's what happened to countries when they died, maybe there was no body to bury.

The dark haired man coughed, "Italy-kun . . . Tell me about that person."

"Hmm?" Italy tilted his head to the side, smiling, "Tell you about who?"

"That person who died, Holy Roman Empire, wasn't it? I'd like to hear about him," Kiku turned his gaze to the ceiling, "I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine. I'm prying, really."

Italy laughed, "No, it's fine. I'm sure he'd like it if I talked about him more." His smile faltered a bit, but remained in place as he leaned against the wall, watching Japan move to sit at the table, "Sometimes, I have to talk about him. I'm afraid I'll forget him if I don't. Isn't that a horrible thing? To have lived so long that your memory becomes broken and faded."

"Did you love him?"

Feliciano nodded, laughing lightly again as he took the seat opposite Japan, "Not at first, no. He was . . . Sorta scary." He grinned, eyes glazing over with memories. "He was always saying things like, 'become part of the Roman Empire,' and stuff. Him and big brother France were always fighting over me cause I was so little." He folded his hands together, staring down at the wood of the table, "But . . . When I came to live at Austria's house, he looked after me. He brought me food and helped me when I got stuck in weird places, things like that. We would paint together, and play in the field nearby. There were flowers there, and he'd let me put some in his hair."

Japan glanced to the doorway, noticing Germany standing in the hall now, paused outside the doorway as if he'd just caught hold of their conversation. "What did he look like?" Kiku asked, "The way you said that just now, about putting flowers in his hair, I get the feeling that you picked certain colors to match his looks."

"Yeah, sort of," Italy grinned, "I've always been good at drawing, so was natural, like an instinct for me to do stuff like that. Hmmm . . . Well, I think one time I used gold ones, to match his hair. And another day, we found some beautiful light blue ones, just like his eyes. But most times it was pink; he'd make a bracelet or a necklace of them for me. Always pink."

Blond hair and blue eyes. Why was it that so many of the western countries looked like that. France, America-teme, Germany . . . Japan's eyes widened a bit as Germany walked into the room, stopping behind Italy's chair, ruffling the man's auburn hair. Kiku knew his history, Germany was an older country. But now that he thought about it, Germany's age, and the time period when the country himself had emerged as Prussia's brother didn't match up. Germany was older than Italy, his features said that, but his history didn't align with the basic facts.

Italy smiled, grabbing a hold of the hands that were tousling his hair, "Ne, ne, Ludwig. Is it time to go home now?"

"I'm sure Japan is tired, so yes," Germany said bluntly, pulling Italy up out of the chair, "So, we'll come visit in a few days. Let him get settled back into his house first."

"Wait," Japan protested, "is that really safe? I mean, you're aligned with America now, right? So wouldn't it be unwise to come over here?"

Germany smiled a small, rare smile, "No, it's fine. We have to start undoing all the contracts we made during the war, right? It won't look weird if we come."

"And we can finally have that picnic!" Italy chimed in.

The blond groaned, practically dragging Italy towards the door now. "Yes, _later_. For now, we should get home before the sun rises. I barely get enough sleep as it is these days."

"Why don't you get enough sleep?" Italy asked as he followed his companion out the door.

"Oh, I don't know," Germany said sarcastically, "There's this weird guy who sneaks into my bed each night, and clings to me while I sleep."

"Who would do such a thing!" Feliciano exclaimed innocently, making Germany groan and Japan laugh. Kiku watched them head back towards the car, the silence of the house settling over him again. Closing the door, he shook his head fiercely, trying not to let it get to him. He was finally home again, he should be happy.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"Wow," Alfred said, eyebrows raised in amusement and slight disbelief, "You look like absolute crap, Iggy."

England made a face at the use of the nickname, taking his seat at the meeting table and slumping down in his chair with a groan. "Gee, thanks," he muttered, staring down at the twisting year lines in the wood of the table as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

America sipped at his rather large cup of coffee from his position at the opposite side of the table, eyeing the other country lazily, "Sooo . . . What happened?"

"None of your-" Arthur started to snap, until a pair of arms looped loosely around his neck, a voice near his ear interrupting with enough excitement that would make a normal person explode.

"He got insanely drunk and had a hot and sexy one night stand with someone who's identity remains a _mystery_," Francis chimed in a sing-song tone, grinning from ear to ear.

"S-shut up!" England sputtered in alarm and horror, struggling uselessly in Francis's grip.

Alfred couldn't help the blush of embarrassment that spread across his face, but tried to hide it with a smirk and a knowing look at Francis, "Oh, really now?"  
Francis's grin turned practically _evil_ and he let go of Arthur, jumping onto the table and flinging himself into Alfred's lap. He positioned himself comfortably, winking at America so fast he knew England wouldn't catch it, "You wouldn't know anything about Iggy's affair, now would you America?"

The bespectacled blond shook his head with a wide smile, "Nope!"

Arthur glared at them across the table, "Like I'd do anything with virgin-boy over there," he said defensively, face growing red.

Francis frowned and turned his attention back to Alfred, whose lap he was still seated in, and twined his arms around his neck. "Virgin? That can not be so. Not with that one time . . ." he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

America blinked, catching on almost immediately. It was, after all, a common game between the older country and himself; England being the ball in such a game of course. "Yes, how could I forget," he grinned. "It was quite a night."

France risked a glance at England again, noticing the shock and fury growing on his face. He whirled back to America again, catching his face between his hands. "Oh yes," he purred, only Alfred picking up on the mocking tone in his voice, "Shall we repeat the actions of that night sometime?"

"Oh, let's," America replied smoothly, playing right along with ease.

"No!" England burst out, unable to contain his horror any longer.

"Yes!" the other two replied in unison.

"Right here -," America started.

"- Right now," Francis sang, grabbing the younger country's hands and pulling him out of the chair with a whirl.

"Shall we?" America asked.

"We shall," Francis smiled evilly.

And England's aghast expression turned to one of annoyance as America and France faced each other and, surprisingly enough, began to cha-cha across the room.

"Where's a rose when you need one?" America laughed.

Francis smirked, and procured a rose out of seemingly nowhere and popped it into Alfred's mouth, "Why, right here, mon cherie." He turned, leading America in the other direction now, ignoring the beginnings of England's furious rant.

"You guy's are so immature!" Arthur spat out, face red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, "What the hell is wrong with you?! Aren't we supposed to be discussing something important!?"

"But not everyone's here yeeeeeeettt . . ." America sang, looking at Arthur upside-down as Francis dipped him.

"Who else is there to wait for!?!"

Conveniently, the door opened at that moment, and America, not even looking up from his dance across the room with Francis, called, "Hey Matty!"

England raised a characteristic eyebrow, having at first thought the door had opened of its own accord. But he now noticed the person in the doorway, who he might have mistaken for America had America not been sashaying back and forth with Francis at the moment.

Canada pushed up his glasses nervously as he shuffled into the , the white bear Kumajiro tucked securely in his arms. He gave England a brief nod before staring at his brother as he and Francis marched past him in their cha-cha. "What are you _doing_?" he asked, blue eyes widening.

"Dancing, what does it look like," America replied sarcastically.

Francis was about to add something about how dancing was a fine and noble art, except that the door opened again. And this time, he was startled to see who stepped into the room, and actually dropped America mid dip.

Germany stood in the doorway, looking more than a little uncomfortable and out of place. He hadn't been in this room since he'd broken their last alliance after the first Great War. And France's dark glare right now was almost enough to make him take a few steps back in the hall again. That, and the fact that England had lowered a hand to his gun on his hip.

America, a bit stunned and winded from his fall, was up faster than anyone could speak, standing between Francis and Ludwig with determined eyes. England took his fingers from his gun just as fast, coming around the edge of the table, his hand resting on France's shoulder instead. He could see the raw anger in the man's blue eyes, the way they glinted almost red as he stared at Germany. It showed in his body too, as he started to shake with fury, his fists clenching so hard against his sides that his knuckles turned deathly white. "Francis," Arthur whispered, looking between America and the man at his side. He was almost afraid that the older man would actually _hurt_ Alfred to get to Germany. It wasn't like he hadn't seen Francis snap before.

The other didn't answer when Arthur whispered his name, his gaze growing darker by the second.

"Francis!" Arthur said sharply, moving his hand to the other's arm, tugging him back harshly.

Quite the opposite of the reaction he'd been hoping for, as in Francis coming to his senses, Arthur felt himself thrown back against one of the chairs, the older country pushing him into the cushion, turning his back to him just as swiftly. His cold gaze rested on Germany again, and England was starting to wonder if he even noticed Alfred standing between them. A low growl of rage grew in Francis's throat, his hands moving behind his back, pressing Arthur back against the chair even more.

England's heart thudded painfully in his chest, panic rising in him. They couldn't fight, oh god no. Not here. He turned his eyes up to Francis's back, realization dawning on him. The stance the older country held, the way he kept pressing Arthur farther and farther back. He was . . . He was protecting him. The blond jumped to his feet, grabbing Francis's arm and turning him around, forcing him to meet his eyes. He was startled to see pure bloodlust there, and it was suddenly his turn to be forceful, slapping him across the face.

Francis's eyes widened in shock, and he reeled back, though Arthur maintained his grip on him. Emerald eyes sought out blue, watching the tinge of red fade from the older man's eyes. "Look at me, Francis," he whispered, too quite for anyone else in the room to here, a fervent plea. "Look, it's all right. _I'm _all right. Okay? Please. . ."

The taller country took a step back again, but England didn't give him any room to do so, taking the step with him, his fingers digging into the blue fabric of France's uniform. "He's on our side," he whispered. "Look at me, Francis. I'm not hurt. That's over. I'm not . . . They're just scars now." It was a stretched lie, there were many places on his body that were still raw and burned, but he was healing. And Francis wouldn't know that. Couldn't know that, since he hadn't exactly been naked around the other any time recently. "Francis . . ."

France took another step back, pushing England's hand away as he glanced at America. "Why?" he whispered, feeling slightly betrayed, "Why did you bring him here? After all he's done?"

America tilted his head to the side, and repeated the same words he had said to Germany the night before, "It's not the boss that shapes the country," he said solemnly, "Francis . . . You of all people should understand that."

Germany's eyes swiveled between America and France, and then to England for a moment, before he jumped a bit, a pair of trembling hands resting against his back. "Please don't fight, big brother," Italy said quietly, shifting from where he'd been hiding behind Ludwig the whole time to stand in front of him instead, "Please . . ."

Francis tore his eyes away from Feliciano, guilt overcoming him. He'd snapped. He'd completely lost it again, something he hadn't done since the Revolution. "Fine," he whispered hoarsely, "America, what exactly is this plan you have?"

Alfred's smile returned, and he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, shaking the creases out of it and holding it up proudly, the four letters at the top emblazed in red. NATO.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Francis leaned against the wall in the hallway, eyes glazed as he waited. England was talking to Italy about some sort of trading thing he wanted to set up, something he himself had little interest in. He blinked as Arthur suddenly exited the meeting room, nearly running into him as he turned the corner.

He was silent a moment, though his eyes didn't hide any of his thoughts. Francis could see the anger, the annoyance, the _worry_. "What happened back there?" Arthur whispered after a few moments.

The older man turned away from him, begging to walk out of the building, but he didn't answer, except to say, "Nothing."

"It wasn't nothing!" England snapped, following him with quick steps as they made their way outside, "You were seconds away from killing him! I could see it in your eyes!"

"And I could see it on your body!" Francis burst out, unable to hold it in any longer, "All those scars and burns! It took me awhile to realize what they were at all. Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't you let me help you?!" His voice was full of anguish, held back tears stinging in the corners of his eyes, "He hurt you so bad! And I . . . I couldn't do anything about it! Why do you always have to do this to me?!" He turned away again, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes as he choked back a sob. It hurt, it hurt so bad knowing that he was the last person Arthur would ever turn to for help. The last one he would tell if he was hurt. The only one he wouldn't regret killing at all. He'd tried to, so many, many times. It never changed between them. Ever.

"How do you know about those?" Arthur's voice was shocked, "I never showed those to _anybody_."

"I . . . I saw yesterday, when I was over. While you were sleeping," he lied, swallowing the lump in his throat. Really, he'd seen them the night before that, when he'd held England in his arms. He'd noticed the burns and healing scars in the midst of the passion that the younger country couldn't remember. He felt so stupid for not having realized anything while the war was still going on.

England shook his head, forcing back the pain that flickered in his heart at the thought of anyone else having to see that, of all things. He closed his eyes, trying to wipe the image of his own flawed skin from his mind. Francis looked up at him, startled to see the look that passed across Arthur's face as his eyes remained closed to the world. A look of self loathing.

Francis held out his hand towards the other, "Arthur, walk with me," he said quietly.

Arthur cracked open his eyes, gazing at the hand held out to him in disbelief. "You won't mock me for twenty years again, will you," he asked incredulously.

"No," France replied, "Not this time."

Slowly, Arthur took the hand that was offered, letting his fingers slide easily between Francis's, fitting them so perfectly it was as if they were puzzle pieces rather than fingers at all. And so they walked hand in hand down the road, Francis's fingers around his own so tight, he wasn't sure if he would ever let go. And England felt a strange calm descend over him. It had been hundreds of years since he'd held hands with France. Not since the days that they were young enough to still run and laugh and play together in a field of endless flowers.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

It had been a lot more of a stressful day than usual, and Germany wanted nothing more than to take the hottest bath of his life and sleep all the way through the next day. Except that of course, with Italy, it meant a huge bubble bath (for two) and another night with the smaller country wrapped around his waist instead. He turned his blue eyes to the auburn haired man as they approached the front door of the house in the evening light. He supposed it might be all right, except he still couldn't understand _why_ Italy only ever wanted to take a bath with him, instead of alone.

He reached out a hand, ruffling Feliciano's hair softly. Italy looked up at him, startled out of his random thoughts (probably about pasta). "I'm proud of you, Feliciano," he murmured quietly.

"Neh, why Doitsu?" Italy asked, though his brown eyes lit up at the praise.

"You were very brave, standing between Francis and me like that," Germany whispered, "Thank you."

Italy smiled, "O-of course! We promised, right?" He held up his pinky, symbolizing their pact, "So, for Ludwig, I'll always try to be brave. Right?"

Germany smiled, a small, rare smile, "Right." He turned towards the door, his hand halting on the knob before he turned it. It was unlocked. Why was it unlocked? He took half a step back, pulling out his gun and pushing Italy firmly behind him. The last time a door had been unlocked like this, they'd found Japan, broken and dying. He was afraid of what he'd open the door to see this time.

Italy choked back a wail, burying his face against the back of Germany's uniform as they stepped into the house. There was blood everywhere, streaked across the walls and the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers curling into the cloth of Ludwig's shirt as he whimpered, his gaze having caught the words written in scarlet on the wall of the main room.

_Bad move, Germany, joining America, _it read. _Reconsider, or it will be Feliciano next time._

Ludwig growled in rage, turning to tug Italy into his protective embrace, eyes scanning the room to try and figure out exactly what had happened. And he swallowed hard at what he saw next.

A small, golden-yellow chick, mutilated almost beyond recognition on the table, its blood dripping onto the floor. Horrible realization gripped him, and his arms tightened even more around Feliciano. This wasn't just anyone's blood.

Prussia had returned home at exactly the wrong moment, and Ludwig flinched at the thought that it might have been Italy instead. He'd only needed one half of Germany to sign the alliance, and now it was too late. Russia had either slaughtered Gilbert, leaving no remains besides his blood, or had tortured him and dragged him away. Either way, Ludwig could already feel the wall building up inside his land, separating him from his brother, and he clutched Italy to him fiercely, anguish welling in his heart. Because there was absolutely nothing he could do

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Kiku was dreaming, he knew he was. Although he realized that he hadn't once dreamed while he had been at America's house. But it wasn't so much a dream now, as a dark nightmare.

He was crouched on the floor, staring up into blue eyes as a gun was slowly lowered to point at his chest. It was playing out all over again in his mind, the one moment he didn't want to relive. The way America closed his eyes, hiding the guilt and regret that lay there as he held the gun in shaking hands, and the way Japan could only watch as if frozen to the spot.

And then suddenly, he was no longer staring down the barrel of the gun, but instead, looking on as his position was replaced. America stood where he had been now, his blond hair and face glistening with sweat, his blue eyes holding a much steadier gaze than Kiku's had as he face the gun pointed at him. Japan flinched as the gun pressed against Alfred's forehead, but the young country only smirked in defiance.

Kiku's eyes flew up the metal of the gun to the hand holding it, then to the person holding it, fear gripping him. Ivan stood over America, nearly a head taller than him, violet eyes dark with hatred. There was an ominous click of a safety switch, but still, America said nothing, his gaze proud and unwavering. And Japan screamed as the gun went off, splattering the ground with blood over the sound of Russia's dark laugh.

He stumbled forward, slipping on the crimson tide as he kneeled down beside America. But the man's blue eyes stared up at him unseeing, soulless and empty. This wasn't what he wanted. Oh Kami, this was _never_ what he wanted!

Kiku jolted awake, heaving for breath as he sat bolt upright in his futon. A dream. It was only a horrible dream . . . Right? His hands shaking, he reached towards the phone a few feet from the bed. _Call him, warn him. Don't let him die because you could do __nothing__ to help him._ His fingers halted inches from the phone.

"_Have no contact with me, ever."_

He threw the phone across the room, flinching as it smashed against the wall and broke. He shouldn't care at all anyways, not when the same thing had nearly happened to him because of that idiot. He shouldn't care.

Except that he did. Kiku sobbed, burying his face in his hands. There was nothing he could do. Not now, not ever. Except to stand by and watch, and pray that everything would turn out all right.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Yay, you get the hugest chapter ever from me today. There was just so much I had to talk about, last chapter being shorter and only focusing on one issue. Here, the characters paths are all starting to intertwine again as Cold War tensions rise. Japan is neutral, the NATO is signed, and the Berlin Wall goes up.

FIRST THOUGH! Omfg, I have a treat for all of you. A certain little 76 page AmericaxJapan doujinshi in the mail for me! That I will graciously scan if someone is willing to find a translator (or translate themselves. I'm shit at that. You'll only get names, the word Hetalia, and basic sayings like Arigato, out of my translations. D: ) FOR REALS PEEPS! All for you, via luv from me. (I almost bought the FrUK one too, but it would have meant a 0 in my account, so sorries Angel. :d it's next on my list once I have a real job again.)

Anywho . . . This chapter was hell to write. The first part being one of the hardest. That, and Francis's meltdown. In case you didn't know (which you should, giving the tactics France resorted to in the new episode 41. Yay suit!) France absolutely DESPISES Germany. Though reasons have never been specific as to WHY. So I made some up. :3 I know they fought and such in the past, but no more that Germany and America, or anyone else, so his hate is a little uncalled for. Hmmm . . .

Oh, and thank you Lucky and Angel for their disturbingly graphic gore in Seven Little Killers. It helped me write my Prussia-kidnap scene. *bows* Arigato.

Also, the chapter was a bit influenced by the Nickelback song I'd Come For You. :] thus the title.


	14. Chapter 14

**A Little Drop of Healing: Crimson Tears**

Prussia bit his lip, spitting out the blood that had begun to pool in his mouth again. He turned defiant crimson eyes to meet lavender, a low growl forming in his throat. "Just kill me, bastard," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Russia crouched down in front of him, his long scarf trailing on the ground, beginning to soak up the blood there. "I'd rather not," he said, smiling darkly, "Won't you just join me instead?"

"Never," Gilbert retorted immediately, struggling against the shackles that bound him to the stone wall. The cold iron sliced into his wrists that were already raw and bleeding from previous attempts to free himself.

"Really?" Ivan smirked, "Well, since torture doesn't work, I could always . . ." He slid his fingers down the length of the long metal pipe he'd been using, streaking the blood staining it down to the hand that held it. " . . . Bring Feliciano into it."

"He has nothing to do with this!" Prussia roared, ignoring the metal cuffs drawing more blood from his wrists as he lurched forward.

Ivan smiled, "Oh, he has everything to do with this. Because you see . . ." He raised the pipe up, brining it crashing down onto Prussia right arm with a horrible crunch of shattering bone. Gilbert screamed, and Russia merely laughed, "I like seeing people break. Germany turned to America, instead of me, though we already had a pact. Killing Feliciano will be the perfect way to see his face twist into that lovely expression of agony. After all, a shock like that would probably bring back his memories, wouldn't it?"

Prussia's scarlet eyes glazed over in horror, "No . . . You-"

Russia smirked, confirming the sentence that the other never finished. "Breaking the bond he's held for over a thousand years will be more than enough to shatter his heart, won't it," he drawled lazily, "The pain will be ten times worse when he remembers who he really is."

Gilbert lowered his head, defeat washing over him. "No," he whispered, "Let them be. I'll go." He wouldn't, _couldn't_, let that creep do something so cruel. Not to Italy, and not to his little brother. "I'll go," he repeated, "Just don't . . . Don't hurt them."

Ivan grinned in delight, "Of course."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

England tried to remember how he'd ended up in such a situation. He'd walked Francis home and stayed for dinner. That should have been the end of it. He had been only moments away from leaving for the night when America had called. France had answered, listening for only a few moments before he jerked Arthur away from the door, saying something rapid into the receiver before he hung up. He'd pulled England into his arms, the younger man's back against his chest as he relayed briefly what Alfred had told him. Something about Germany and Prussia, and blood, though Arthur couldn't remember it all now. He only remembered the fear that had echoed in Francis's voice, and how utterly _safe_ he himself had felt, though the situation said that he should have been terrified.

And he hadn't complained when Francis pulled him onto the bed, wrapping his arms protectively around him again as they settled into the blankets. They had laid face to face, France whispering comforting words in his ear. It had been part of the reason he'd remained so calm, even though inside, his heart was pounding with fear. And Arthur had replied with his own murmured promises, his fingers tangling into Francis's long blond hair as he spoke.

"Are you scared?" Francis asked, his hands laced against the small of England's back as he held him.

"No," Arthur said quietly, "I'm not scared of that Commi-bastard." He tilted his head to the side, "Are you?"

"No," Francis whispered softly, "I'm not scared for myself. I'm . . . I'm scared for _you_. I don't want you to get hurt again." His eyebrows furrowed in worry, "Please, Arthur . . . Let me protect you this time."

And without hesitation, his fingers running through Francis's hair, England had murmured, "All right."

The older country had stared at him in surprise for a few moments, and then laughed, causing Arthur to glare at him. "Sorry," he smiled, "I'm not laughing at you." He held back another laugh as England narrowed his eyes in disbelief, "I'm just . . . Happy."

England raised a characteristic eyebrow, "Why?"

Francis smiled, a smile that was filled with sadness, and something else Arthur didn't recognize, "It's been a long time since you let me be this close to you. When was the last time?"

"Your Revolution," England said automatically, recalling the time with ease. It had been after Francis had snapped, actually going as far as to turn on Arthur. He had been leaderless and broken, and when it was all over, England hadn't hesitated to let Francis hold him, if only for a while. His emerald eyes narrowed, his fingers falling to the sides of France's face, "You almost . . . You almost lost it again, just like back then."

The taller blond pulled England closer, sighing heavily, "I know," he whispered, leaning his forehead against the other's, "I'm so sorry you had to see that again, I-"

"Don't give me any of your apologies," Arthur said quietly, his hand lowered until his arms rested beneath Francis's, "I . . . I was scared, yes. But . . . You protected me. No one's ever done that before." He closed his eyes so that emerald wouldn't meet blue, twisting his head to the side so that their foreheads no longer touched.

France remained silent for a minute before he asked the question that was bothering him. "About America . . ." He hesitated, afraid of the answer, "Do you still love him?"

England blinked in surprise at the sudden inquiry, "I . . ." He closed his eyes again, "I'm trying to get over it. Because I _know_ somewhere deep down that Japan is what's going to make him happy. And isn't that what I want anyways? To see him happy?" He shook his head, opening his eyes again, sadness in their depths, "But . . . It's hard to let go, you know?"

"Don't ask me," Francis laughed softly, "I'm more stubborn than you are with things like that."

"What do you mean?"

Francis smiled, leaning closer to the younger man as he whispered, "Mes premiers, vrai, et un et seulement l'amour, sont un et identiques. Toute ma vie, il y a seulement eu d'une."

Arthur felt a blush creeping over his face, though he didn't know why. Francis could be talking about anyone, so why did he feel like he was talking directly to him? He shook his head to get rid of the thought, and blinked in surprise as he noticed the older country beginning to snore. Rolling his eyes, he rested his head against the France's shoulder, sighing. "You always fall asleep like that. Idiot," he whispered.

But he felt safe, even though he knew disaster was practically around the corner. He felt safe lying in Francis's strong embrace, something he knew he hadn't done in hundreds of years. Not since before he'd found America, long before that really. He frowned, regret showing in his emerald eyes as he thought of the ring. It was the one thing that reminded him of both the bond between him and Francis, and the hate. Of the years they had spent together, and the rest they'd spent apart. But he'd gone and _lost_ it, one of the only things he treasured in his long lifetime. He felt like such an idiot.

"You and me . . . We're both just a couple of bloody morons, aren't we," he chuckled quietly, feeling the weight of the day's events pressing down on him as he began to drift off. He had the strangest feeling that he was going to sleep soundly for once, instead of his usual jolting awake at ungodly hours, memories of Germany's attacks still heavy on his mind. _Because you're with me_, he thought,_ but why does that mean anything?_

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Italy blamed himself. If he'd stayed home, Prussia wouldn't have been taken. He was sure Germany would rather it have been the other way around. What use did someone strong like Ludwig have for such a useless ally like himself? He glanced at the blond out of the corner of his eyes from where he sat on the other end of the couch.

Germany was reading a newspaper, one of many from a large stack of them piled on the coffee table. He'd collected them for the remainder of his land and was now pouring through them, reading about the wall that had been erected between him and his brother. His blue eyes were narrowed in worry as he scanned another article.

And Italy only felt regret. Gilbert was gone because of him. Because he was too lose to Germany. His eyes turned briefly to the other side of the room, and the wall that had been stained with Prussia's blood the night before. Ludwig had probably scrubbed it off while Italy was asleep. Feliciano turned his gaze back to the blond, shifting uncomfortably where he sat. It would be better if he went back home, then Germany wouldn't have to worry about him. He was only hurting the other country like this.

"L-Ludwig-" Feliciano started.

The blond didn't look up, his arm rising from his lap top fall around Italy's shoulders, pulling the smaller country close. But he didn't say anything, or give him even the slightest glance.

Italy was silent a moment, startled at the reaction with his head now resting on Ludwig's shoulder. "I . . . I should go," he whispered finally.

Germany blinked and turned his eyes from the paper down to Italy in surprise, "What?"

"I'm only causing trouble," Feliciano continued sadly, "I don't want Germany to get hurt because I'm here and-"

"You're not leaving," the blond broke in fiercely.

Feliciano's eyes widened, "But Doi-"

"No," Germany whispered forcefully, "You're staying here, with me. Even if you run away, I will follow."

"_Why do you follow me when I run away, even though you run away when I follow?"_

The auburn haired man's breath caught in his throat. He'd heard those words before. They had been some of the last he'd heard uttered from someone who was long gone now, yet kept a hand on his heart. "G-Germany . . . Do you love me?" He burst out.

Ludwig looked genuinely surprised at this. It wasn't as if he'd never been asked it. Of course, last time Italy had sprung this on him, they'd both been naked in the shower. At least it was less awkward this time. Though that didn't mean it wasn't completely embarrassing. "Err . . . I-"

"Not as a friend," Italy added quickly.

"Ummm . . ." Germany hesitated, more than a bit taken aback by this new development. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously with the hand that wasn't on Italy's shoulders. It's not like he'd never thought about that sort of thing before, he had. A lot actually. Italy was someone important to him but . . . Loving someone like that meant that he'd do anything to protect that person. Give anything, even his own life. It was like Francis standing between him and England the day before. Hadn't he protected Feliciano like that time and again? Hadn't half the war seemed more like an exhausting "rescue Italy" mission over and over again? So . . . Didn't that mean that he loved him? "I . . ." He started again, "Feliciano, I-"

Feliciano didn't wait for a reply, tilting his head up to kiss Ludwig softly, pulling away just as fast, his brown eyes flickering with uncertainty and confusion.

Germany felt his heart stop this time with shock, "Felic-"

"Wait," Italy said swiftly, his gaze growing more and more confused as he licked his lips, wiping the faint taste of the blond from them. Something was wrong, and completely perfect at the same time. He reached up, his hands resting on either side of Ludwig's face, "Please," he murmured, "just one more time. I have to test something." He leaned forward, taking Germany's lips against his own again, feeling a spark like something electrified flare up from the contact. It was hauntingly, and achingly familiar. He jerked away, startled at the feeling, and he turned his eyes up to meet Ludwig's.

Blue eyes, and blond hair. It couldn't be . . . "Doitsu . . ." He whispered hoarsely, disbelief in his gaze. "H-How long have you loved me?"

Germany stared at him, confused. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say that he loved him at all. And his mind was still absolutely reeling from their kiss, and the spark that had told his heart this wasn't the first time they had done so. So it was that the reply came unbidden to his lips.

"_Ever since the 900's_ . . ."

The blond clamped his mouth shut as soon as he'd said it, a searing pain piercing through his head.

"_I'll teach you to paint."_

"_Look at the new outfit Hungary gave me!"_

"_W-wait! What am I supposed to do?"_

"_Take this, and think of it as you would of me . . ."_

"_At your house, what do you do with people that you like?"_

Ludwig jolted, trying to push himself away from Italy, wanting the pain to stop. But even as he did so, it seemed to only get worse, slicing through his heart and mind in the same motion.

" _. . .With people that you like . . ."_

And this time, it was Germany that kissed Italy, the anguish overwhelming him becoming too much to take. It was a harsher, more desperate kiss that the smaller country's had been, his hands pushing Feliciano backwards onto the couch. Italy's mouth opened against the blonde's in surprise and Ludwig took the opportunity to force his tongue inside. The closer they were, the less his heart throbbed with that aching longing and painful separation, the more the pain in his head faded.

Italy broke the contact, twisting his head to the side and pushing Germany away, tears filling his eyes. He should feel happy, knowing that _all this time_, Holy Roman Empire had been right by his side. That he was, in fact, the one and the same with the person he'd admired for years now, maybe even loved. But it didn't make him happy. Not at all. Because Holy Roman Empire had forgotten him.

"_I think that somewhere deep down, he made the choice he did for himself." _

He'd been forgotten, on purpose. He'd waited, for years and years, only to be told that the one he'd loved was dead and gone. And it had all been a _lie_. Now, instead of the hole in his heart healing, he felt as though it was tearing even bigger, so much so that he gasped with the pain of it. He pushed Germany off of him, jumping off the couch and bolting for the door. It had been a lie, all of it. And deep down, he knew that Germany would _never_ remember.

His hand was on the front door when Ludwig caught him, grabbing his arm and turning him around. And Italy reacted without even thinking. He was hurt, his heart ached with betrayal, and for a moment, his instincts took over.

Ludwig flinched as Italy slapped him across the face, hard. He took a step back, letting go of Italy's arm. "I'm sorry . . ." he whispered, still looking to the side after Italy's reaction, his cheek starting to redden, "I'm so sorry . . ."

Feliciano turned away, guilt prickling at his conscience, but he didn't say anything. It was raining when he stepped out the door, slamming it behind him. It always rained when he was sad, or maybe it was just a fluke. But it wasn't rain that streaked his face as he ran down the street, his hand clutching his shirt just over his heart as if that would somehow make it stop hurting. He choked back a sob as he splashed through a puddle that had started to form, shaking his head fiercely. He'd been stupid not to have realized it. And now it wasn't as if he was finding the love that he'd lost, but more like he was losing Germany, replacing him with something that would never come back, even though they were one and the same. He was watching both Germany and Holy Roman Empire die right before his eyes, and it was all his fault.

Ludwig stared at the closed door as he slumped down to his knees on the hardwood floor. His heart told him to run after Italy right there and then, but his mind told him not to. So he was frozen to the spot, his cheek still stinging from where Italy had slapped him. All those late night tears and nightmares, all those brief but anguished looks that had ever flickered on Feliciano's face, all of it was his fault. He knew, now, who he'd been. Though that part of his mind was still bleak and empty, there was no other explanation. He turned away from the door, telling himself that it was just the rain that trickled down his face, though he knew very well that he was inside.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Japan was more than a little surprised when the postman had handed him a rather large package with his morning mail. Actually, aside from bills and advertisements, he hadn't gotten any personal mail in the month he'd been back home. Being neutral had its lonely points, especially when everyone else was picking sides. Switzerland was neutral too, like usual, now that he thought about it, but he definitely didn't feel like seeking out that guy's company. Not unless he had a death wish.

He turned the brown paper wrapped box over in his hands, searching for the name of the sender, but finding none. Just his name and more than enough stamps (about twenty actually). The stamps weren't much of a help either, as they were from all over the world, as if the sender had torn them from their stamp collection in an attempt to remain anonymous. Kiku narrowed his eyes as he carried it into the house, wondering if he should be worried about the possibilities of a bomb. But he really doubted it; didn't the mail service check for that sort of thing?

Setting it down on the floor, he began to tear off the wrapping, pulling open the box when he got to it. It was a camera, wrapped in colorful tissue paper. He picked it up gingerly, examining it. Personal cameras hadn't been around long, so he'd never owned one before. Brining it up to his eye he peered through the lens curiously, wondering what he would take pictures of. He tilted it back down towards the box, blinking as he noticed through the viewfinder, a piece of paper underneath the last layer of tissue.

He set the camera on his lap, taking the item out of the box and turning it around, only to find that it wasn't paper. It was black and white photo, though of what he wasn't sure. A disorderly stack of small, round, flat . . .

. . . Pancakes . . . He raised the hand that wasn't holding the picture to his mouth, a small sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a choked sob escaping him. Smiling, he set the picture down, looking at the camera in his lap again. "Baka," he murmured quietly, "This is a form of contact, though a very inconspicuous one." He laughed softly, closing his eyes. Something so stupid, so insignificant, from _that_ person no less, shouldn't make him happy. But he had to admit, it definitely made his day a whole lot better.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

FYI, I live with a bunch of ASSHOLES. So if you don't hear from me for a LONG time after this, feel free to come assassinate them. I would love you for it. Many of you know that I don't have the internet, coupled with the most useless laptop ever. And now, because I am still a few months away from eighteen, I have been deemed unworthy of using said laptop ever again. So unfortunately, updates will be completed on my off hour at school, so, less than an hours worth of work a day, plus four ongoing fics and one collab = you're lucky if you get a chapter a week after this (it'll probably shorten to a chapter every 2 weeks, but hopefully not). Gomenasai, for my asshole family. Of course, that completely flings out the idea of me ever getting to read a fanfic again for the next few months. So if you're someone whose stuff I read, consider me dead.

Anywho . . . This chapter went through over four rewrites on the scene with Germany and Italy. Mostly because I couldn't decide on whether to make him remember, or not. Or make them part, or not. And did various mix and match. This is the final version that I like best. Clap for the angst. Oh, and what Francis said? It's this - "My first, true, and one and only love, are one and the same. All my life, there has only been one."

So unless I can suddenly find somewhere to run away too, or kill my dad, then you might not be hearing from me for quite some time. I apologize in advance. If only Russia was my friend . . . *_*

However . . . You will get speedy twice a week updates again when I move out, sometime in May. :p But I'd hoped to be done with this long before then. Not so sure now . . . *sigh* hugs and reviews are much appreciated, as always. Thankies.


	15. Chapter 15

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Dream A Memory**

"_Aniki, Aniki! Japan-nii-san hit me again!"_

_China laughed softly, scooping the small child up and into his arms, wiping away the boy's tears on his long scarlet sleeve. "Kiku's a bit rough, isn't he ~ aru," he smiled, bouncing the young nation on his arm, closing his eyes as the quiet sobs subsided, "But you know, Korea, you can be strong too."_

_Korea tilted his head to the side, blinking dark eyes slowly, "Strong?"_

_Wang-Yao nodded, rocking the child as he laughed at the confused expression on the boy's face, "Yes. Become a big, strong country that can protect your Aniki when he's old ~ aru."_

_The young boy smiled, reaching up his small hands to touch the sides of his brother's face. "But Aniki won't get old," he said with certainty, "countries stop physically aging after awhile."_

"_That's right ~ aru," China agreed, "But Yong-Soo, I'm already far older than you might ever be." He caught the boy's hand, lowering from his cheek to his chest, "In here."_

_Worry flashed across Korea's face for a moment as he stared down on the hand that had been placed on the top left of China's chest, "In your . . . In your heart, Aniki?"_

_China tweaked Korea's long curl on the right side of the child's head with a gentle smile, "Yes. But it's nothing you should worry about right now ~ aru."_

"_Big brother . . ." Korea kept his hand on Yao's chest, splaying his fingers out across the red fabric of his clothes. "Aniki . . . Do you love me?"_

_The older country closed his eyes again and kept his smile in place, turning his hand from the curl to ruffle the child's hair. "Yes," he chuckled, "I love you very much, Korea." _

_China couldn't remember how it had happened, it just _did_. He'd come home a few moments before from picking up Hong Kong from England's house, where the adolescent country had been staying for the week. Though why his younger brother had any fondness for that opium-bastard was beyond Yao. But he had to acknowledge the fact that Hong Kong would have never been born if it hadn't been for that whole thing. And he was definitely one of China's favorite siblings, much more quiet and well mannered than his other brothers._

_It had happened so fast. One minute, he's been cooking some rice for his brother's supper, the next; a sword was pressed against his throat. He bit his lip, stifling a startled cry as he narrowed his eyes and glanced down at the blade. A katana. "You've gotten bold," he whispered without looking up at the holder of the weapon, hoping that his voice was low enough that Hong Kong wouldn't hear from the next room, "You'd attack your own brother?"_

_Japan smirked, "It's not like this is the first time." He shifted the blade, nicking his older brother's throat, watching impassively as the blood slowly dripped down onto the polished steel._

"_My people, yes. My land, yes," China growled, But never me." He raised his eyes to meet the ones that so resembled his own, "You really do hate me . . . don't you."_

_Something flickered in Japan's eyes, and he lowered the sword, slicing through the bowl that had been in his brother's hands before he raised it back to its original position. The bowl cut cleanly in two, the halves clattering to the floor and shattering among the rice that had been inside it across the wooden floor. "I do," Kiku drawled, his tone icy, "I hate you more than anyone."_

"_Aniki! I heard a noise, are you -" Hong Kong had come skidding into the room from the hall, stopping short as he saw his two brothers, the last of his sentence ending in a startled gasp._

_China's eyes darted to the young city, horror in his gaze, "Hong Kong, get out of here!" he yelled, regardless of the sword pressed against his throat, "Run! Get out of here now ~ aru!"_

_Hong Kong took half a step back, but froze, confusion and fear flickering in his eyes. His hand was on the doorframe, his knuckles white as his nails dug into the wood. But he remained frozen to the spot as Japan turned dark eyes towards him._

"_Oh. You're that port city, aren't you," Kiku said slowly, smiling darkly, "The English one. Well, that's perfect then, since I was planning to seize all of your ocean lined cities of trade, big brother." He turned his gaze back towards China, "But I plan to kill you first. It'll make the job that much easier, you see." He flicked the sword back from his brother's throat a bit, complete sincerity in his eyes as he spoke. He raised the blade fully and brought it down, only to jolt as it clashed against metal instead of cutting through flesh._

"_You will not hurt Aniki!"_

_Nihon blinked in surprise, taking a step back as someone blocked his blow, stepping between the two eldest oriental nations, his malicious smile growing darker as he noticed who it was. "Well, you've been quiet elusive, haven't you, Korea," he said slowly, smirking, "Even though I captured your land and your people, you remained nowhere to be found." He increased the force of his grip on the katana, sliding it across the younger country's blade threateningly._

_Korea growled under his breath, pushing China back behind him with his free hand, "Well I'm here now, aren't I? Go ahead and take me." He narrowed his eyes, "That will give you total control, won't it." He flicked his gaze towards Hong Kong briefly, letting his eyes linger only a moment before he glanced at Yao, "Go. Go now," he hissed, "and don't come back."_

_Yao placed his hand on Korea's back, disbelief in his eyes, "Yong-Soo . . ."_

"_I said go!" Korea yelled._

_China stepped back, grabbing Hong Kong's hand as he reached the doorway. He took one last look over his shoulder, feeling both Kiku's searing glare and Korea's protective gaze on his back._

_Korea grinned as China's eyes met his for a split second before he and Hong Kong ran from the room. The third eldest of the Asian brother's took half a step to the side as Japan brought his katana crashing down towards him again, raising his own sword to block the blow. Steel clashed against steel as he forced Kiku back. He just needed to buy his Aniki some time, that's all that mattered. His foot hit some of the moist rice that had been in the now shattered bowl as he stepped back, and he stumbled._

_That was all it took for Japan to gain the upper hand, whirling to thrust the blade deep into Korea's stomach. The younger country gasped in surprise, choking up blood onto the sword protruding from his abdomen. He winced, glaring up at Nihon with defiant eyes._

"_I've always been stronger than you," Japan smirked, twisting the katana in the other country's gut, "ever since we were little. You're a fool, Korea."_

_Im Yong-Soo gritted his teeth, his hands falling to the blade as though he was daring Kiku to pull it out. "You're wrong," he whispered, coughing up another mouthful of crimson blood, "Strength isn't brute force, Nii-chan. It's something you earn by having the courage to make right the wrongs you've done. It comes from the will to protect those you love." He smiled, yanking the sword out of his own stomach, falling to the floor. "And I . . . I love Aniki more than anyone . . ."_

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

_It was always raining on the days that were most painful in England's memory. The day he'd lost to America had only been one of many. And this was just one more that he relived in the darkest of his dreams._

_It was raining as he ran, splashing through thick mud and slimy puddles. He spun on his toes, turning to fire into the green uniformed ranks of the German soldiers following him. It was a swift and feeble attempt to delay the inevitable. It was still too far away, he'd never make it back to his own, huddled, broken army._

_There was a splash of footsteps at his side and he turned his handgun towards the person on instinct._

_Francis raised a hand in front of the gun, laughing weakly, "Now now, you don't want to do that."_

_Arthur's eyes widened as Francis kept pace with him, the older country's hand covering his lower left side, where blood oozed out between his fingers. "Ah - Francis! You're hurt!" he gasped out, genuine worry clouding his eyes._

_The older blond merely smiled, shaking his head, "I'm fine, mon cheri. It's nothing." He touched his hand to Arthur's back, pushing him gently forward as he spoke, "England, listen to me. I'll race you back to your troops, okay? And you be sure you run really fast so that you beat me, right?" He shoved England forward, "Go, now!"_

_So Arthur ran, stumbling through the rain and puddles as he raced towards his troops. His breath caught in his throat as he heard gunshots echo behind him, and he noticed that his hurried footsteps were alone. He turned, screaming in anguish even as his own soldiers pulled him into their ranks, grabbing him as they began to make their retreat. He screamed and cried out, struggling helplessly as he watched the German army surround the scarlet stained and unmoving body of France._

England jerked awake as warm fingers brushed tears from his cheeks, and he raised emerald eyes to meet blue. Francis was leaning over him, concern in his gaze as the younger country drew in a shaky breath. "Was it a dream about the war?" he asked, pulling Arthur into his arms.

The smaller man let his hand fall to Francis's side, where the wound had shone so clearly in his nightmares of nearly ten years ago during the middle of the war. "I dreamed of this," he whispered.

Francis sighed and pushed back the bangs from Arthur's forehead, "I'm sorry. I made you cry that day, didn't I?"

"I wasn't crying," England muttered, looking away. He relaxed into the older country's arms after a moment as France laughed softly, laying his head back down on the pillow beside Arthur's. The younger blond raised a characteristic eyebrow and he leaned forward until his head barely touched the other's, and almost instantly recoiled.

"F-Francis! You're burning up!" he gasped, his hands raising up to grasp the older country's face.

"It's just . . . The heat of my love . . ." France mumbled, closing his eyes, "Mhmm . . . Your hands are cold . . ."

"Because you're sick!" England exclaimed in frustration, "Your economy, what's your economy like right now?"

"Merde absolue," Francis muttered quietly, starting to drift off into sleep.

"Hey," Arthur gave the other man's cheek a light slap, "Stay with me there! Why didn't you tell me you were getting sick?"

"Didn't want to make you feel guilty," Francis whispered, "Nothing you could have done . . ." He fell silent, slipping into a fevered sleep.

"Francis?" England said desperately, shaking the man by the shoulders, "Francis! Hey! Wake up, you hear me!? Francis!"

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

_America was dreaming, and he knew it. Because this event had already happened, nearly ten years ago now though, to a country, that was such a small span of time that it seemed more like yesterday._

_He'd been coming home from a meeting with his boss and had been hanging up his bomber jacket on the rack near the door when he'd frozen in horrible realization. Someone was in his house. He turned his head slowly, blue eyes meeting dark brown as he caught sight of the man sitting on his kitchen table, and the gun pointed straight at him._

"_K-Kiku?" Dream, memory, his words were the same. Same stuttering, shocked tone, same disbelief and sinking feeling of betrayal._

"_Did you really think you could stay out of our war?" Japan drawled lazily, tilting his gun slightly in his hand, "You're such a fool."_

_Alfred turned fully, confusion in his gaze. "Kiku . . ." he whispered, "What happened to your eyes?"_

"_My eyes?" There's nothing wrong with them," Nihon smirked._

"_No . . ." America shuddered, "They're cold . . . And dark . . ." His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, "Don't you see? That's what war does to us! We lose ourselves in the corruption and bloodlust of our people and our leaders! Kiku, please-"_

_Kiku clicked the safety off the gun, firing once into Alfred's right hip. To his distaste, the taller country didn't cry out, and he fell to the floor soundless, clutching the wound to try and stop the rush of blood that had already begun. The dark haired man frowned, hopping off the table and walking past his victim towards the door. "Oh, and America?" he said suddenly, voice dripping with hate, "You have no right to call my by my human name, Teme." The door slammed shut and Japan was gone._

America blinked the dream away, his breathing deep and ragged as he found that his fingers were covering the scar from that day. He withdrew his hand, bringing it up to his heart instead, tracing the still fresh scar he had carved there himself. He sucked in a shaky breath, closing his eyes again. If anything good had come out of what he'd done to earn the scar over his heart, it was that Kiku's eyes had lightened again. And that was something that mattered, if only to him.

_It was only a few moments before America was dreaming again. Although this time he wasn't sure if it was simply a dream, or another memory._

_He was small again, dressed in his white nightgown with the red bow on the collar. The blond was crouched in the grass, wiping away silent tears from his eyes. The sound of the ocean wasn't far away, though he knew instinctively that it wasn't the same ocean he usually stayed close to. It wasn't the one where he knew Arthur would come and find him. This time, he had wandered too far away. Alfred hiccupped as he rubbed at his eyes, doing his best not to cry._

"_Are you lost?" a soothing voice asked._

_America jumped, staring up at the hand that was suddenly offered down to him. He hadn't even noticed the near silent footsteps or the sound of dark blue robes brushing over the top of long grass as the person approached him. Biting his lip, he gazed up at the stranger nervously, only to find that the dream, or maybe it was a memory, did not include a face. But even so, he could feel the warmth of a smile coming from the person. So he stood up, reaching out to take the other's hand, "Yeah," he hiccupped, "I got lost."_

"_Well, that's unusual, isn't it," the person laughed softly, leading him away from the shore, "This is your land after all, though I suppose you're still very young. So it's all right. Everyone gets lost once in awhile."_

_Alfred was slightly taken aback at these words. Most people were oblivious to the existence of ones like himself, the keepers of the lands. For this stranger to know that he was a country must also mean that-_

"_America! America, where are you?!" a voice called over the wind that blew gently along his land's western ocean._

"_Someone's looking for you," the stranger said kindly, crouching down and letting go of the child's hand as he pointed in the general direction the call had come from. "You should go, hmm?"_

_America began running towards where Arthur's voice was calling him, turning just once to catch sight of the person who had comforted him when he thought he was lost. The long blue robes of a traditional Yucatan, short dark hair, and deep brown eyes._

"Oh,"_ the blond thought_, "I know this person. He's . . . Important to me . . ."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Korea shifted uncomfortably where he sat in a rather demonic looking chair, though how someone could get a chair to look like that he wasn't sure. He could feel Russia's piercing gaze on him, but he didn't dare look up. So maybe he'd called the guy fat, so what? He didn't have to _glare _at him like that. Besides, Korea _invented_ the nasty glare. At this thought, Im Yong-Soo turned one of his own towards Ivan in retort. Two could play at this game.

China stepped between them after a moment, trying to prevent a fight from starting. "Ivan ~ aru," he scolded gently, "don't glare. And anyways, Korea's made you a wonderful offer, we should accept."

Ivan raised an eyebrow, glancing with suspicion towards the younger oriental nation, "Why do you want this, you have no motive as far as I'm concerned."

Korea tilted his head to the side, smiling slyly, "Oh? I'm interested in this government you and Aniki have. You're already holding onto half of my land, so why not both halves? It'd just make it easier on me ~ da ze."

Russia knew a lie when he heard one, but he ignored it. This country could be perfect distraction he needed to keep America out of his hair for a few more years. He'd gain the upper hand with the extra time. "All right," he agreed, smirking slowly, "Just make sure that you plant a lot of falsified threats around that idiot America, and we have a deal."

"Fine," Korea said immediately.

"I've got my hands full with Germany and the countries around him," Ivan continued, his tone suggesting that he couldn't care less. "I went back to his house this morning to try and carry out my threat, only to find that Italy was nowhere to be found. And neither was Ludwig for that matter. Although . . ." his lavender eyes betrayed a dark, gleeful look, "I did find something very interesting . . ." He snapped his fingers, watching as a reluctant looking Hong Kong emerged from the hall, holding a struggling girl by the wrists.

Hungary was bound and gagged, he green eyes blazing in fury as she threw muffled curses at Ivan, though her tone said more than enough as to what those insults might be. Russia grinned at her, ignoring the insults clearly being hurled at him, "A cute new plaything, isn't she wonderful?" He snapped his fingers again, indicating that Hong Kong should take her away, though the young city shot him an annoyed glare that went unnoticed. "Take her down to join her friend. I'm sure it will pain him just as much as it will his brother to see her in my grasp. Won't that be lovely?"

Korea shuddered, looking away. In truth, he didn't want to be here at all or get caught up in things like this ever again. But if China was on Russia's side, then he would be as well. He'd made a promise to himself to become stronger; this was just one more step towards that. "_Aniki . . . You're the one I love the most . . ."_

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

I liiiiiiivvvee . . . Slightly. This took too much time for my liking, writing it at school on my off hours and all. D: Anywho . . . I LOVE YOU ALL! You're so nice and encouraging when life sucks and I just want to take you all hope and hug you. :] thank you. Although, the situation is still the same. *le sigh*

This chapter was . . . Hard. It's the introduction to both Korea and Hong Kong, as well as the major flashback chapter. The flashbacks are VERY necessary, believe it. (hehehe.) Except for the very first flashback and the very last, they all took place in WW2. Korea's capture and China's east ocean side being taken over by Japan. (Events may have been slightly falsified. :] ) And France's capture by Germany, as well as America's Pearl Harbor incident. The first and last were just fluff. :D the thing about France being sick . . . *laughs evilly* well . . . That's true. It has something to do with oh, say, money problems and the Suez Canal. An issue/episode that I get to cover soon. *woot!*

Oh, and yeah, poor Hungary, captured by the evils of Ivan. D:

The next chapter is a small side story, and the chapter after that you'll get to see Italy and Germany's issues again, not to worry.

Oh, and the name thing again, almost forgot.

Korea – Im Yong-Soo (human name)


	16. Chapter 16

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Side Story: I Admire You**

Korea left his older brother's house in a hurry, after a few more well aimed insults about Russia's weight though. If he was going to allow his Aniki to fall for an idiot like that (which he would, very reluctantly), then he at least got to insult the bastard; it was only fair.

He sighed deeply, regret washing over him. Though he'd known all his life that it was impossible, he'd still hoped for it. Hoped that his Aniki would fall in love with _him_, not that communist bastard. Wait, he was a communist now too, wasn't he? Korea rolled his eyes with a groan. He had a sinking feeling that this whole thing was going to be way more trouble than it was worth.

Reaching down, his fingers brushed lightly across his clothes over his stomach, where he knew the scar from his fight with Japan was. It had nearly killed him, that war. And here he was, only a few years later jumping headlong into another one. He was starting to think that one of these days he might really die for being so foolish. He shrugged, continuing on down the road, not in any real hurry at all.

It was only a moment before he heard the hurried footsteps behind him, and he slowed slightly, waiting for the person to catch up. He recognized those steps, fast and evenly paced, as if their owner didn't really care whether they caught up or not. So Korea didn't stop walking, but merely waited as he continued on until the person drew up beside him. It was a younger man with dark, short hair and eyes of a similar shade. He was taller than Korea and had large dark eyebrows that at first seemed slightly out of place on the oriental city, but on a second glance really suited him. His face was slightly flushed from his efforts to catch up with Korea, but as he slowed down to a walk beside the older nation, it faded almost instantly, and he wasn't breathing hard in the slightest.

Korea gazed at him out of the corners of his eyes, but the other didn't speak. So he cleared his throat, deciding to start the conversation, "So . . . Did you need something, Hong Kong?"

Hong Kong shook his head, keeping pace with Korea but saying nothing. Im Yong-Soo raised an eyebrow, but let the silence remain. He'd hardly spent any time at all with the youngest of his siblings before. Actually, now that he thought about it, the last time he'd seen him, besides today at his brother's house, was _that_ day during the war. Hong Kong had been there when he'd stepped between China and Japan. He'd been a main target during the war, being the only city with a physical embodiment. Not to mention he was a main center of oceanic trade.

"You really shouldn't get caught up in all this," Hong Kong said quietly, breaking the silence.

The older man blinked in slight surprise, "You really don't have any say in the matter," he said sharply, "I've done it before, and I'll do it again ~ da ze! I'm going to stay by Aniki's side no matter what." He bit his lip in thought a moment, "Besides, what business is it of yours? Technically, even though you're on Aniki's land, you're that tea-bastard's brat."

This made the usually expressionless Hong Kong smirk, raising a dark eyebrow identical to England's, "Yeah, so?"

"So you're just trying to keep that guy out of this," Korea continued, "I'm a threat to that new North Atlantic Treaty, huh?"

"Actually," Hong Kong said bluntly, "I don't really care what Nii-san does," he was referring to Arthur now. Glancing at Korea again, he let his eyes fall to the older man's stomach, where he'd been toughing earlier at the thought of war. "I'm worried about you," he said quietly, "Isn't it too soon for something like this?"

Korea snorted, looking away, "No. I'm stronger than I look and can handle it just fine, thank you."

The younger man said nothing, turning his gaze forward and to the road again as they walked. In all literal senses, Korea was right. It wasn't any of his business. And he was very young still, as far as countries go. But he wasn't exactly a country now, was he. Did that make it less of his business? He wanted it to be his business though. He felt that he knew more about the situation, being on China's land but owned by England. And besides . . . He glanced at Korea again, guilt gripping him. If he'd just reacted faster, and hadn't frozen in fear that day, Korea would have never been hurt so badly. He sighed softly, looking away again, "Would you like to get something to eat," he asked suddenly, "I'll treat. There's a good place a block or so away that makes some great mushu-gai-pan."

"Well . . ." Korea had to admit that he was hungry. And not only that, the food would be _free_. And who was he to turn down a free meal? "Okay," he grinned, "since mushu-gai-pan was invented in Korea after all."

Hong Kong rolled his eyes.

A few hours later they were sitting on the grass behind the restaurant, at the edge of one of their older brother's traditional Chinese gardens. Korea groaned, flopping down on his back beside the clear water of the fish pond. "I ate too much," he moaned at the sky, patting his swollen stomach in mutual contempt, "But it's been a long time since I've been this full, it feels good."

"You don't eat much?" Hong Kong asked from where he sat beside his older brother, "At home, I mean."

Korea hesitated before speaking, "Not really," he muttered, "My south side has decent food . . . But that America guy's over there. And the side that Soviet-fatty controls barely has enough food for my own people. And I'm not about to gorge myself when my people and barely get by, you know? And I don't really care for that America guy, so I eat what I can get." He smiled, without a hint of regret in his words.

Turning dark eyes to the young city, Korea continued to smile as he noticed the concerned look all but hidden in the other's gaze. "You're a kind person, Hong Kong," he said quietly.

Hong Kong looked genuinely surprised at this sudden statement, "What?" he said, confused.

Yong-Soo raised a hand and waved it airily, "Well, even though kindness was invented in Korea, you have it." He laughed as the younger man continued to look confused, "You have kind eyes," he murmured. "At first, you look a bit scary, with that tea-bastard's eyebrows and all. But . . ." he grinned, "Actually, they really look good on you."

The young city blinked, feeling the slightest hint of embarrassment as he looked up at the sky to hide it. But when he looked back down, Korea was snoring beside him, still flat on his back in the grass. He frowned, a bit annoyed, but said nothing. For a few long moments he merely watched the country sleep, the rise and fall of his chest and the slight fluttering of his eye lids as he dreamed. He leaned over, brushing the bangs from the other's eyes with gentle fingers. And he didn't hesitate when he bent down the last few inches to kiss him softly, lingering a moment before he slowly pulled away.

"I admire you," he whispered almost inaudibly. "Someone who's willing to sacrifice everything for his brother, that's what I wish I could be like. But I'm not a nation, and I'm not big enough to have any sort of independence and last long on my own. But . . ." he turned his gaze back to the sky, "If I was . . . I sometimes wonder if you'd take more notice of me. The way I notice you." He shook his head, smirking slightly, "But you only notice Aniki, don't you?"

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Lalalala . . . I like these two as a pair, and I hope to have another side story chapter with them in it. A smut one of course. I get the feeling that they'd have interesting sex, with Korea's obsession with "breasts" and his possible erogenous hair thing. Lols. Plus, I can't decide who's Seme for them, so I would get to switch it up, which is fun. :]

Ah, and by the way, I got this awesome idea and went with it, though I'm already swamped with work from all this computer trouble. = 3= It's called "Notes Of A Love Song," and it's entirely FrancisxArthur AU. I posted the first chapter, so check it out. Please? I really like it, it's a blast to work with so far, mostly cause I get to make everyone be in these awesome bands and sing and stuff. :] and I can focus more on FrancisxArthur, which I have been more infested with than I realized.

Anywho . . . Angel, do you have the dreaded writers block for Love Was Invented In Korea still? Cause if so, can I poke you into unblocking it? SLK is too depressing to be the only Hetalia fic I'm regularly reading. D:


	17. Chapter 17

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Ashes, Ashes**

Lithuania was more than a little startled when he came downstairs that morning only to find _Poland_ sitting on the kitchen table. It was the oldest Baltic country's duty to make breakfast every morning while he lived at Russia's house, so he got up fairly early each day (Russia liked a big breakfast), so maybe that was why. Yes, that had to be it. He wasn't getting enough sleep, and was hallucinating about Poland being in _Russia's_ house, of all places. It definitely had to be a hallucination, since he knew that Feliks hated Ivan for all he was worth.

So it was only after Toris had promptly turned around to go back to bed that he realized that this wasn't just another trick of his imagination. "Is my face, like, that ugly?" Feliks laughed, directing his gaze at Lithuania's back, "I, like, was hoping you'd be happy to see me after all this time, Liet."

Toris felt his breath catch in his throat at the nickname, but he didn't turn around, no, he should have felt happy that Feliks was here, they hadn't seen each other in years. But he didn't. Instead, he felt a growing rage rise in his chest, coupled with anguish as horrible realization washed over him. "What are you doing here," he bit out finally.

Poland blinked, that hadn't exactly been the first reaction he had been expecting, or at least hoping for. But he should have known it would be like this, he was treading in dangerous waters right now, being here. "Well, that bastard had, like a bunch of my land still under his control after the war," he started, sensing the growing tension in the room rising by the second, even as he spoke. "So then he, like, asked me to sign this Warsaw thing, so here I am," he tilted his head to the side, watching Lithuania with a false smile and a guarded look in his green eyes.

"Liar," the other nation whispered, still refusing to turn around, "I can always tell when you're lying."

A small smirk crossed Poland's face, "Oh? And what do you care if I lie, Liet?"

Lithuania bit his lip, turning to glare at the blond, fury in his eyes, "You hate that guy! So why would you even think of coming here at all!? Did you forget that he nearly killed us both last time you were under his control?!"

Feliks narrowed his eyes, "Like I care." He closed them as Toris took a step forward, slapping him harshly across the face, but he didn't flinch. He'd expected it, and he bit his lip as Lithuania started to yell.

"You're such an idiot!" he screamed, angry tears forming in the corners of his eyes, "How much are you going to go through before you get it through your thick head that this is not a good place to be?! That just because we're nations, doesn't mean we can't _die_, Feliks!"

"That's exactly _why_ I'm here, Liet," Poland muttered, rubbing at his bruising cheek. He leapt off the table, taking half a step forward so that his face was only centimeters from Lithuania's. "That guy's totally lost it, Liet. For good this time. If I'm here, I can stand between the two of you when he snaps. I'm not going to . . ." He swallowed, "I'm not going to, like, sit by and just watch anymore, Liet." taking another half step forward, his mouth was barely a hair's breadth from Toris's ear. "You're more important to me than you know," he murmured, "though I know I've told you that time and again. Leit, even if I am a fool, even if I'm weak . . . Isn't protecting what I care for more important that life, or death?"

"Please don't say that," Lithuania pleaded, resting his head on the blonde's shoulder, "Please . . . I won't let you die . . ."

"That's not really in your hands at the moment," Feliks whispered, stepping back and towards the door. His green eyes flickered back to their normal, playful shade. "Anyways," he smiled, "I have to go. That Comi-Bastard's setting some missile bases up on my land today." He twirled, "Might have to find a special outfit for that I think. Which would freak him out more, a skirt, or tight leather?"

Lithuania watched as Poland skipped out the door, falling to his knees and brushing a hand across his eyes. "Idiot, idiot," he whispered, his voice breaking, "I don't . . . I don't want you to die . . ."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

It was two days before America noticed the package sitting on his doorstep. He was more distracted than ever, running back and forth across the globe. And then accompanying some troops to Turkey and Greece to settle what he'd promised a few months back. Actually, it was Greece who pointed it out to him while he'd been over during their negotiations.

"You have a box," Heracles said bluntly, motioning towards the item in question which was now being mauled by one of his cats.

Alfred blinked in surprise and suspicion. The only person he ever got packages from was England. So, even if he did see them, he usually let them sit outside for a week or so, lest it be some food item. Then he'd have an excuse not to eat it. But on closer inspection, after detaching the cat from it, this box didn't contain any sender name, but rather, an odd assortment of stamps from around the world. His heart leapt in his throat, recognizing it as the same thing he'd done a month before, and he jumped in the air with an audible whoop.

Grabbing the package, he hurried into the house, Greece following at a much slower pace. By the time the older country found America in the living room, the blond was tearing away at the paper and practically shredding the box (as the cat had tried to do) to get to it's contents. Heracles smiled, "So, it's from Nihon then?"

A slow, yet wide grin spread across America's face as he pulled out a small stack of black and white photos from amidst a flurry of packing peanuts, "Yeah," he said quietly, happily, "It's from Kiku." He flipped through the photos, looking at each one a few moments with a smile, "The Sakura's are blooming over there. Someone needs to invent color film; I bet they're really beautiful to see in color, those pinks and red and whites."

Heracles looked confused a moment, "Then why don't you? Go see them, I mean."

"You know I can't do that," Alfred whispered, still smiling. "Ivan would take out his hate for me on Kiku if I did. It's for the best this way, I know it is." He turned to another picture, and his hand rose to his mouth in shock. He bit his lip as he shifted through the last few pictures; regret and guilt clear in the blue beneath his glasses. "Oh Kiku . . ." he swallowed.

Greece leaned over America's shoulder, peering down at the photos. "Oh," he said quietly, "He went there then. You knew he would eventually, America. It's his land, and his duty." He picked up one of the pictures from Alfred's lap, looking at the scene of rubble and ash amidst the slowly forming new buildings. "This one's Hiroshima, did he visit both?"

"Yes."

"He's not mad, America," Heracles assured him, sensing the guilt in the other nation's voice. He took another photo, examining it as he talked, "He's not showing this to you because he hates you."

Alfred smirked sadly, "He sure hated me when he first came here."

Heracles laughed, "I'm sure he did. Japan is probably the most stubborn nation I've ever met. But . . ." He took the last photo, looking at the scene with genuine interest, "That doesn't mean he can't forgive. He's healing, America. He's showing you that he's okay, that his land and his body are both healing. Slowly, yes. But surely. Just as he slowly but surely came to put his trust in you. He doesn't want you to worry about him when you have bigger things on your mind."

America pushed his glasses up to run at his eyes, "I wish I could read him as well as you, Heracles," he laughed quietly, "I just . . . I know that this shit is going to last for years, and I . . ." He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes again, "More than anything, I just don't want him to realize what the only outcome of this is."

"You speak of your own demise?" Greece asked, a knowing look in his eyes. "You're letting your people's fears get to you, America. That is only one of many futures," he said after America nodded in agreement. "Fate twists and turns with every action you take," he tossed the pictures back at the blond. "You're going to send him something back, right? Why don't you take the chance to show him your scars as well? You should visit the memorial."

"I don't think-"

"He'll appreciate it," Greece assured him quietly, "believe me."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"I wonder if Roderich notices I'm missing," Hungary whispered, her voice hoarse from days without water, "I wonder where Ludwig went. He and Feliciano were both gone . . ."

"They probably eloped or something," Prussia laughed weakly, the sound coming out as more of a wheeze as he began to choke on the words, coughing up a mouthful of blood.

Hungary stood up, stumbling over to where the other country was still shackled to the stone wall. "I'm sorry," she murmured, wiping some of the blood from his mouth with her now tattered sleeve, "I shouldn't have said anything. I know it hurts for you to talk-"

"No, it's fine," Gilbert smiled, drawing in a shaky breath. "It keeps me conscious, so it's okay. Besides, pain lets me know I'm alive," he coughed harshly again, retching with the effort even that took him.

"Don't say that like you're going to die," Hungary snapped.

"I'm sure Austria's already looking for you," he smiled, ignoring what she'd said.

She lowered the hand she'd been using to clean the blood from his face, "No . . ." She said quietly. "He says I'm annoying. He won't even notice I'm gone."

"He'll notice you're gone _because_ you're annoying, the house will seem too quiet," he teased lightly, "Don't worry; he's just a stubborn git. But he wouldn't have married you if he didn't love you. That guy's all about the romance."

Elizaveta chuckled softly, nodding, "Yes, I know." Looking up at him, she noticed his eyelids starting to drop. "What about you?" she prompted, desperate to keep him awake, afraid that if he fell asleep again, he'd never wake up, "Do you have someone you love?"

Prussia snorted in laughter, "No, nothing like that." He glanced at her with amused crimson eyes, "If you ever see me skipping around like that Italian and my brother, feel free to call the nuthouse."

"Then there's no one?" she asked, bemused.

"I once loved you," Gilbert reminded her softly, "Remember?" He laughed as she pretended to look startled, "But that was hundreds of years ago now." He paused, thinking hard, trying to stay focused and awake, "There are many people I care about now though. Ludwig, Feliciano, you, Roderich, Antonio, Francis . . ." He stalled, another name on his lips, but he didn't speak it. "I met someone recently too," he continued, "a new friend. Someone who listens when I spill my darkest secrets. But I . . ." he swallowed, coughing again, "We fought. That's why I came to Germany's house. I needed a breather," he shook his head, "And look what I got. Ha. I'm sure it serves me right, I said some pretty awful things to that person." He closed his eyes, frowning, "I . . . never even got to say I was sorry . . ."

"Gilbert, you-" Elizaveta started, only to draw in a sharp breath as the dungeon door swung open, enveloping? them in light where there had only been darkness before.

"Are you ready to cooperate now, Prussia?" Ivan drawled out slowly, smirking, "You promised, didn't you? That it would either be you, or that useless Italy."

"I did," Prussia muttered, his eyes still closed.

"And you'll follow my orders, no matter what?" Russia smiled darkly; tilting the silver haired man's face up with end of his blood stained water pipe.

"Yes . . ."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Roman had to say that he was surprised to find more than himself in his bed when he woke up. However, he was only half surprised to find Antonio draped over his waist, as the man seemed intent on making this a habit as of late. But he was surprised to see Feliciano sitting on the edge of his bed. The younger twin was swinging his legs back and forth, staring out the window at the rising sun with a dazed look on his face. His brother wasn't even sure if the other knew he had woken up yet. The only detail that gave away the fact that he wasn't as carefree, or out of it, as he seemed was the way his fingers were clenched into the bed sheets, knuckles white with the force he was using.

"Oh," Spain said drowsily, raising his head from Lovino's shoulder, "Lookit, Lovi multiplied in the night. More Lovi's for me . . ."

Lovino smacked him over the head, silencing him with a sharp glare as he wiggled out of the older man's grip and sat up. "Don't be stupid, idiot," he chided quietly, "Its Feliciano. Something's wrong."

Antonio sat up beside him, glancing at Italy and blinking, "He must have found out," he muttered, frowning in regret, "The only other time I've ever seen him like that was the night we lied to him . . ."

"Found out?" Lovino asked, voice concerned, "About . . ."

"Yeah. That thing that Francis, Gil and I hid from him. We thought it was for his own good, him and Ludwig both. Their own family, it wasn't meant to hurt them. But, obviously, it did more harm than good in the end." He shook his head, "I better go out and look for idiot number two then. Gilbert can't do it after all," his eyes flashed with grief, "So the duty goes to me. And I heard Francis is sick too." Smiling at Lovino, he slid out of bed, "You go talk to your brother, okay?" He started slightly as Romano caught his wrist before he could walk away.

"I hate that you keep leaving me to deal with your problems," he muttered quietly, "So hurry up and get back safely. There's . . ." He blushed, "I don't want you to get captured, like Prussia, or Hungary."

Spain's smile turned to a teasing smirk, "Kay," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the younger nation's forehead and laughing as Romano blushed even darker, "Love you too."

"I never said that," Lovino hissed, turning to crawl across the bed towards Feliciano, "Now get going, idiot."

Feliciano jumped a bit as Lovino came to sit beside him. "Oh, Lovi," he laughed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, hoping his brother hadn't seen. "Sorry, I woke you up, didn't I?"

"No," Romano assured quietly, shaking his head and taking his twin's hand in his own, patting it gently. It was a motion he remembered from when they were small, something France or Spain would do if they started to cry after tripping and falling, which happened a lot. "You didn't wake me, Feli . . . What happened?"

"N-nothing," Italy lied quickly, trying to smile, "I just . . . I needed a break, I guess."

"What did that potato-bastard say?"

Feliciano flinched, "Don't call him that, Lovi-"

"If he hurt you, I have every right to call him whatever I want," Lovino retorted darkly, his grip on his younger brother's hand tightening.

Italy shook his head, "No, no. I was the one . . . It was my fault. I'm the one who," he stared down at his free hand, a strangled noise escaping him, "I . . . I hit him, Lovi. And I didn't even apologize! And he said he was sorry like it was somehow his fault, but it was mine!"

"It is his fault," Romano muttered, "He's the one that forgot about you."

The younger twin looked startled, "You knew?" he asked, a hint of betrayal in his voice.

"Only recently," Romano assured him softly, "and it wasn't my place to tell you the truth. That's . . . That was something only Ludwig could do. And Feli," he frowned, eyes hardening, "It's his own damn fault if he forgot everything. Besides, he was a prick back then too."

Italy laughed, this time sincerely, "He really is the same in some ways, isn't he." His smile fell as quickly as it arrived, "But . . . To me, Germany and Holy Roman Empire are still so different. It's like . . . Being told that a dead loved one returned from the grave and killed the person you love now. They're different, but I still want them to be the same! And I just know that if Doitsu remembers being Holy Roman Empire, that he'll stop being Germany. And I _don't want that_. That's the last thing I want. So . . . Am I supposed to let Holy Roman Empire die all over again? It's not fair, Lovi. It's not fair," he sobbed, burying his face against his brother's shoulder.

"It's like you're a two timer deciding between two lovers," Romano huffed, holding his twin close.

"Veeeee? No!" Feliciano sobbed, aghast at the thought.

Romano smiled slightly at this reaction, "You know," he said suddenly, "I'm sure that that potato-bastard's hurting too. Because he can't be both Germany and Holy Roman Empire. He'll have to choose, and right now, it's probably tearing him apart." He paused, ". . . You know, I read once that when someone who has had amnesia for years and years suddenly regains their memory, their new memories vanish as a sort of replacement." Running his fingers through his twin's lighter hair, he whispered, "And didn't you make him make a promise . . . To never forget? That was with Germany, not Holy Roman Empire. It's too late for a promise with that guy. But it's not too late to fulfill a promise you've already made."

"I bet he hates me now," Italy whispered, "I hit him. He hates me."

"I don't," a deep voice spoke up from the doorway, soft like someone choosing their words with care.

Feliciano looked up, eyes filling with tears again as he caught sight of the blond in the doorway, half supported by a complaining Spain. Ludwig was soaking wet from head to toe, dark circles under his eyes as if he'd been up all night, no doubt looking for Italy the entire time. "I thought that bastard got you," he whispered, relief in his voice, "When I came home to see if you'd come back, he'd taken Elizaveta . . . I was so scared he'd taken you too . . ."

"D-Doitsu-"

"I don't hate you," Germany interrupted, looking down at the floor, "I'm . . . Just not good at saying what I feel, I've told you that before. I think . . ." He hesitated, "I think it took me years to say it then, too." blushing slightly, he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand nervously, "But if you really want me too, I can say it. As many times as you like. I just don't know if I can be what you want though. I tried, all night as I was looking for you. I tried to remember, because I know it made you sad. But . . . I couldn't. The only thing I could recall at all was that last day, bits and pieces. When you gave me the deck brush, what we said to each other, your hands in mine . . ." He trailed off, knowing what the final part of that story was, but not wanting to say it out loud. He really was horrible at this sort of thing.

Italy shook his head, laughing slightly, "I'm sorry, Germany, you don't have to remember."

"Huh?" Feliciano got up, walking across the room towards the taller nation, standing on tiptoes to take his face in his hands, "I don't want you to stop being Germany, Ludwig. I can remember for the both of us, so that you won't forget me again. And I . . ." he closed the small distance between them, kissing the older man softly, "I like you the way you are, Germany."

"Oh, get a room!" Antonio muttered, flopping down onto the bed beside Romano, who promptly hit him.

"Ve? What's that mean Ludwig?" Feliciano asked, leaning forward to kiss him again.

Ludwig blushed, shooting a glare at the pair lounging on the bed, and Romano replied with a childish raspberry. "Nothing Feliciano, tell you later," he whispered. "Let's just . . . Go home, okay?"

"Can we hold hands?" Italy asked innocently, following the exhausted blond out of the room.

"If you really want to," Ludwig muttered, reaching out behind him as an invitation, smiling slightly as Italy twined their fingers together as if it was the most simple thing in the world. "Oh, and by the way, you don't have to apologize for hitting me," he added.

"Germany can read my mind?" Italy gasped.

"No. I just suspected that that's what you'd say next. And anyways, sometimes, I think I deserve to be slapped. I didn't think you'd be the one to do it though," he shook his head as Feliciano lapsed into a string of apologies anyways as they headed out of the house, Italy locking the door behind him, wanting to avoid an angry phone call from his brother later, "Feliciano?"

"Ne, Doitsu?"

"Even if I . . . Even if I don't remember, I wasn't lying when I said that. But instead of saying 'ever since the 900's,' what if I just say . . . That I love you, is that okay?"

Feliciano laughed quietly, "Yeah, its okay."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"You went to the memorial?"

America felt his heart stop beating and he nearly yelped in surprise when the voice spoke up. He'd been wrapping up the photos he'd taken in tissue paper, preparing to send them overseas to Kiku, and nearly had a heart attack in the process. "Mattie, don't fricken do that!" he scolded, patting at his chest as if that would somehow lower his heart rate.

Canada was leaning against the wall, Kumajiro tucked securely in his arms as he watched his older twin wrap up the pictures. "Sorry," he said quietly, not sounding very sorry at all in America's opinion.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Mattie? Are you okay?" His brother seemed quieter today, not that he wasn't in the first place. But if he was silent enough to sneak up on a _hero_, then something must be off.

"You haven't seen it yet, have you," Matthew whispered, "the wall."

"You mean the one in Berlin?" Alfred asked, confused. It was the only wall he could think of at the moment, at least the only one his little brother would be concerned about. Hell, the whole world was concerned about it. "No, I haven't, why?"

"I want to go," Canada said, his voice soft, but unusually determined sounding as he pressed hi chin against the top of his polar bear's head. "I want to go see it, today."

"Today?!" America said, astonished, "Mattie, it's like, nearly nightfall!"

"Then by the time we get there it will be midnight in Germany!" Matthew retorted, "I want to go, Alfred!"

Alfred stared at the other country a moment, completely taken aback, "um, yeah, okay. I go call Ludwig and ask if he can meet us then."

It was a few hours later when they arrived at the place, driven by Germany in his car. Austria was sitting in the front seat, staring down at the floor of the car with unseeing eyes, which made the ride a bit awkward. But once they'd arrived at Ludwig's house, he'd insisted on coming with them. And of course, Feliciano was there too, apparently not to be let out of Germany's sight until all this was over. But that was another matter entirely.

"This is the first time I've been here too," Ludwig muttered softly. "I've been so busy, I should have come sooner." He ran a hand through his hair, loosening it from it's slicked back style, "He's my brother after all."

"Don't get to close to it," Alfred murmured as they piled out of the car, coming to stand in the wall's shadow, "I've been hearing rumors, about people trying to cross over to this side."

"They're gunned down," Matthew whispered, "And it's not like they are if we're already on this side. It's fine," he stepped forward, putting his palm flat against the stone, splaying out his fingers with anguished blue eyes.

"Mattie!" America hissed, fear for his brother rising in him, "get away from there!"

"It was my fault," Canada continued, as if he hadn't heard, running his hands along the wall with glazed eyes, "All my fault. Germany, I'm so sorry. This wall is here because of me. I said something stupid and I-"

An alarm sounded, echoing inside their ears from the other side of the wall. "Mattie!" Alfred screamed, panicking now, "Get away from the wall!"  
But Matthew still refused to move, frozen in horror now as he caught sight of people trying to scramble over the stone barrier. There were gunshots and screams from the side they couldn't see, and a lone figure seemed to leap out of nowhere to stand on top of the wall, pointing twin handguns down at the eastern side to get rid of the potential escapees. Matthew covered his mouth with a hand, drawing in a shaky, disbelieving cry. "No . . ." he whispered, "No, please stop."

As if the figure had heard him, he turned, revealing striking silver hair and crimson eyes in the moonlight, a dark smile on his face. Canada put his hand on the wall again, staring straight up at him, "Gilbert, please! Stop! Those are _your_ people! What are you doing!" He choked on the words, beginning to sob as blood dripped down the stones onto his hand.

Ludwig gasped in surprise as Prussia leapt down onto the west side of the wall, unable to believe the dark, bloodthirsty look in his brother's eyes, "East-"

"It's Prussia," Gilbert hissed, turning one of the handguns towards Germany's head. Matthew screamed, turning and pushing the silver haired man away from the blond, arms wrapping around him from behind.

"Stop! Stop it right now!" he sobbed, pressing his face into Gilbert's back. "Please . . . Please . . ."

Prussia hesitated, feeling the stares and shocked eyes focused on him, and the arms wrapped tightly around his chest. He dropped one of the guns, lowering a hand to wrap around Canada's. "I can't," he whispered, "I made an agreement. It's either them, or Feliciano." He closed his eyes, hearing a low, threatening growl come from his brother. "You have about ten seconds to step away before I'm forced to hurt you, Matthew."

"Please . . . I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell, or say any of those things, I-"

Gilbert tore Matthew's hands away from him jumping away. "Ten seconds are up," he said, the dark tone to his voice returning as he began to climb back up the wall, "Sorry."

"Gilbert! Please!" Matthew sobbed, running up to the wall again as if he meant to climb it too, but Alfred grabbed him under the arms, trying to haul him back, "Don't you see how much you're hurting them? Your brother, Italy, everyone? You can't do this! You can't!"

"Tell that to Roderich!" Prussia yelled down at him, "If he'd looked after his girlfriend, I might have been able to get away! But now there's too many of us fucking stuck over here, Mattie! Hungary, Poland, hell, America, I bet you didn't even know that Korea slipped out right under your nose!"

America's grip on Canada loosened, "What?"

Matthew took the opportunity, lunging forward to grab Prussia's ankle, making the older nation fall on top of him. For a split second, Gilbert looked like he might laugh, but after a moment, his eyes darkened again. "Go home, Mattie," he murmured softly. "And don't come here again. Pretend you never saw this. And I promise, it'll seem like no time has passed at all until it's all over. You're a good kid, Mattie; you don't need to get caught up in things like this."

"I'm not a kid anymore," Canada whispered, "And I . . . I made more of that syrup you like so much, so you wouldn't be mad anymore, and-"

"I'm not mad. Now go, please. You're near the top of Ivan's list. I can't have you being stuck there too." He stood up, climbing up the wall, "Might want to get on the at Korea thing, Al," he snorted down at the blond. "And watch out for your little brother, or he'll get captured too." He cast a sideways glance at Roderich, who was staring up at him in a mixture of rage and disappointment. "She's okay," Gilbert said quietly, "Just hurry up and outwit these comis, or we're all screwed." And he vanished over onto the east side of the wall, leaving the other nations to watch in disbelief, and for Canada, regret.

"It's my fault . . ." he whispered, "All my fault . . ."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

The end here is slightly fictionalized, since I'm sure Canada had nothing to do with East Germany and the Berlin wall. But I thought last night, "I love Mattie. And Gilbert. I want to write them more. But how?" and then I thought, "gosh, those two are so hard to pair with anyone. Cept u kno, the usual PrussiaxHungary and AmericaxCanada. Or RussiaxCanada. (anyone who says France with Canada dies.) None of which I'm fangirling over. Ever. Wait . . . Wasn't there something called 'Pancake Pair?' or something like that. That was Mattie with . . . Oh . . . Heh. n _ n" so that was that. Random, fills in the holes and writers block I had for this chapter, PrussixCanada. Which will have a side story as the next installment. Hahahahahahaha! *is evil*

Anyhow . . . Many characters this chapter. I think the only pairing I didn't discuss was Francis and Arthur. But I've been writing them so much in my new fic, Notes Of A Love Song, that I forgot a bit. =_= but they're the central focus next chapter (after the side story. You must be spammed first.) I'm hoping the Germany and Italy scene went over okay, again, it was hard. But they get smut next, so woohoo! Possibly next chapter with Francis and Arthur's next major development. Oh, and the memorial US went to will be in the next chapter too, as well as the start of the Korean war. Or something like that.

Almost forgot, new charies/old charies this chappy.

Lithuania - Toris (human name)

Poland - Feliks (human name)

Hopefully by the time ur reading this, my lovely doujinshi for AlfredxKiku will be in my hands. Mwahahahaha. So then. You'll get scans with the next chapter. Praise my inability to save money. It was supposed to come today, so if you heard about a dead mailman on Thursday the 19th, that may have been my fault. If it doesn't come tomorrow, mailmen shall perish as a punishment. Package. Now.


	18. Chapter 18

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Side Story: Over Pancakes and Maple Syrup**

*This takes place before the Berlin wall goes up, just so you know.*

Canada wasn't sure how it had started in the first place. Maybe it was when He'd gone over to America's shortly after the war ended.

"A-Alfred, you need to go get these papers signed by Germany, for the treaty, you know?" His twin brother held up said documents, waving them a bit to try and get America's attention. But the blond was preoccupied, leaning over an uncurious, fevered Japan and dabbing sweat away from the older nations forehead with worried eyes. And after a few more failures in trying to get his brother to leave the house to get to work, Alfred snapped at him.

"I'm a little busy right now, Mattie," he said tartly, trying to keep his voice even. "Can't you just help out and do it yourself?" He turned back towards Kiku, dunking the cloth he held in a bucket of cool water before placing it over his forehead.

So Matthew had gone to Germany, very reluctantly, only to find that Germany himself wasn't home. Instead, he'd found a very strangely dressed Prussia, twirling around the room in a maid outfit. He'd stopped doing whatever he was doing when the younger country had entered, looking mildly embarrassed. "This is so not what it looks like!" he'd exclaimed, only for Matthew to merely raise an eyebrow in reply.

"Is Ludwig going to be back anytime soon?" he sighed, eyeing the maid outfit warily.

"Probably not," Prussia shrugged, "I think he and Italy said something about going to Antonio's and whatnot. Why, do you need him?"

Matthew nodded, holding up the paperwork lazily, "Yeah, I need Germany to sign this for my stupid brother. It was part of the cease-fire agreement."

Gilbert's eyes lit up, "Whoa, I can do that you know. I'm part of Germany too now technically." He puffed out his chest with pride, "Hand it over." Canada did so and watched as the silver haired man signed it with a curling signature. "Done, and awesomely so," Prussia declared, tossing it back to him.

The blond stared down at the signature for a minute, unsure if this would pass for something valid with Alfred's boss. "I should probably get Ludwig to sign it too," he said after a moment, giving the older nation an apologetic look.

Prussia grinned, "Sure, whatever." He laughed as Matthew covered his eyes, noticing that he'd been halfway through taking off the maid outfit. "I'm wearing pants underneath, duh," Gilbert snorted, tossing the dress onto the couch. "You can just hang out if you'd like, I don't have anything better to do."

So Matthew sat down on the couch, awkwardly pushing the maid dress aside as he tucked Kumajiro into his arms. Prussia watched him for a moment before leaning over the back of the couch towards him. "What's the bear's name," he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"U-um . . . Kumajiro," Canada said quietly. "His name is Kumajiro."

Gilbert smiled, placing something on top of the white bear's head, "Well, this is Gilbird." It was a small yellow chick, staring up at Matthew with blank eyes as it shifted it's fuzzy wings and peeped at him.

Matthew laughed softly, "Gilbird?"

The older nation looked smug, "Yeah, Gilbert and Gilbird, get it? Don't even try and say it's not cool, cause it is." He stood up, skipping off towards the kitchen, "I'm thirsty, think I'm gonna have a beer," he sang, "want me to get you one too Mattie?"

Canada looked up swiftly, surprise in his eyes, "Wh-what?"

"A. Beer. Do you want one?" Prussia said, emphasizing the words slowly.

"Ah, yeah, sure," Matthew answered, 'But that's not what I meant . . . I . . . You know my name?"

"Umm . . . Yeah," Gilbert said uncertainly, eyebrow raised, "Am I not supposed to? Is it like, an international secret or something?"

The blond shook his head, laughing softly as he rubbed a hand over his eyes, "No," he shook his head, brushing something from the corners of his eyes, "It's just . . . Know one ever remembers me, so it's surprising for anyone but Francis or Alfred to remember my name . . ."

Gilbert came around the couch, kneeling down in front of the younger man, "Hey, hey, don't cry . . ."

"Sorry," Matthew hiccupped, "I'm not sad, I'm actually . . . I'm actually really happy! I'm so happy that someone remembered me!"

Prussia smiled, reaching up to ruffle the younger nation's hair affectionately, "Well, let's just say that I've made it my job to remember things." He stood up, leaving briefly to grab a pair of beers from the kitchen before he flopped down on the couch next to Canada. "When you live a long time like me, there's a lot of stuff to remember. Some countries, like Yao, try and forget things _because_ they've lived so long. England's like that too. But then there's ones like me," he grinned, taking a swig of the beer, "I still write every day in my diary, so that I won't forget. And then, even if I do, I can always go back and remind myself of what I've forgotten."

Canada took a hesitant sip of his drink, smiling slightly, "But wouldn't that be painful sometimes, to always remember everything that you've ever done?" His blue eyes clouded, "I know there are some things I'd rather forget. Wars and stuff. People I've hurt."

"Forgetting is something easy to do," Prussia said after a moment's hesitation, his voice certain. "It takes courage to remember all the hard points in life, especially for people like us, Mattie. I can't say that I like those sorts of memories, it hurts to look back on them. But I hope that one day, they won't hurt so bad, and I'll move on." He smiled, taking another gulp of his beer, "But sometimes, forgetting can be what saves you I suppose. I know someone who would have died had it not been for him forgetting everything. He had to start all over again and rebuild from the bottom up, make a new life for himself. And I . . ." He closed his eyes, "Sometimes, I think that I should have done that too, instead of merge my land with Ludwig's. But there's so many good things, mixed in with all the bad, things that I _want_ to remember. Even if I do die because of the decision I made, I won't regret it. There are people, and places, and times that I never want to forget."

Canada choked on his drink, "D-die?"

Gilbert looked over at him with glazed crimson eyes, "That can be one of the consequences for merging you land with someone else. It's not a marriage, like Austria and Hungary's pact, so sometimes that happens. My father and Rome were like that, they both fought until they died, their lands merging together and falling into out care. Old Greece went like that too I think. She got taken over and she relinquished full hold on her land and people. And then just vanished, leaving Heracles behind. One day, I might disappear too. I've already lost the right to call myself Prussia, so it's silly that everyone keeps doing so."

Matthew shook his head, "No, no, let everyone keep calling you that. Maybe that's why you haven't disappeared yet. You haven't given up, you have reasons to keep living."

Prussia smiled, reaching over to ruffle the other's hair again, "You're a good kid, Mattie."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

For some reason, they kept running into each other. Prussia just started showing up at Canada's house. He invited himself in and they sat across the table from each other, just talking quietly and eating pancakes, which Matthew soon discovered was something Gilbert was fond of.

He learned about who Germany really was, all the secrets and lies Prussia had upheld over the years. The blond listened as the older nation recounted how he'd met Hungary, how he'd thought she was a boy, and so had she. How he'd fallen in love with her, and watched as she fell for Austria and eventually married him, and he let her go. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

And Canada in return told him about his own life. About his arrogant brother, and how they used to be one nation of wandering people before Arthur and Francis found them. He told him how he'd turned on his own twin, setting his capital aflame and scarring him, revealing that he too now carried a similar scar as the repayment for the action. And he told Prussia how much it hurt him to always be left out and forgotten. How no one ever seemed to notice him, and he never had a chance to prove himself.

They had slowly grown close, and neither of them had realized it until it was much to late.

"You should tell Ludwig to go neutral too," Matthew had said one day while they were sitting on his couch. "That's what my brother is having Kiku do. It's safer that way. You and Germany are close to Russia too, it's dangerous for you both if your economy is still healing."

"We'll be fine," Gilbert assured him, waving his hand airily to show that his concerns were misplaced.

"But Russia's really pissed at the two of you!" Canada exclaimed, not about to be waved off. "You betrayed him, and you're on the top of his list right now!"

Prussia's eyes grew dangerous, "And you're not? You can see Russia's house out your fucking back window Mattie. You think I want you signing that damn NATO thing your stupid brother has set up? What would you do if I forbid you to join him?"

Canada stood up, outrage on his face, "You couldn't! America is my brother, and I'm going to stand by him even if it kills me!"

A beer bottle flew across the room, shattering against the wall behind Matthew. Prussia got to his feet, catching the blonde's hand in his chin, "You idiot!" he hissed, "Don't you understand that I've seen enough people I care about die over the years? My fucking brother gave up his memories of everyone he loved just to survive! Don't you see that that's what's going to happen to you if you keep blindly following America?"

"You can't tell me what to do!" Canada cried, jerking away from him, "You're not even a real nation anymore!" He gasped, putting a and to his mouth as he realized what he'd said.

Prussia gazed at him, looking as if he'd been physically slapped. "Okay, fine then. Forget I was ever here at all, Mattie. Cause you know what?" His voice turned venomous, the hurt he felt reflecting in his scarlet eyes, "I sure as hell am going to forget about you." He whirled, stomping out of the house and slamming the door behind him, leaving Canada to fall to his knees in the middle of the room, hands over his eyes as he sobbed. The words had hurt, both his own harsh comments, and Prussia's.

Gilbert had flung his coat on the ground inside the doorway as he came back to his and Ludwig's house, anguish and fury still etched in his eyes. "Fuck this," he muttered, knocking a lamp from it's stand near the sofa, "Fuck this! I don't care if I disappear anymore! I've lost everything that made me a country, so why am I still here! Let me die already!"

He gasped as a sword glistened in the moonlight flickering through the still open door, the blade plunging into his chest and blood splattering the ground. Russia stood over him as he slumped, laughing that horrible laugh as he watched the other man bleed on the hardwood floor. And the last thing Prussia had thought as he blacked out, was that, in truth, he never wanted to die. Because even if life hurt sometimes, there were still people that he loved. Ludwig, Italy, Hungary, hell, even that bastard Austria. And there was one more thing now. He loved sitting across the table with Matthew, eating pancakes and beer and simply talking. And now it was too late to tell anyone that.

RANDOM AUTHRO RAMBLE

I swear, we're almost done having random side stories. ( I think . . .) but I really liked this one, it was probably one of my favorites so far. It had some of the issues I've been wanting to talk about, but could never wiggle into the story at any point. So yup. Most of it being Prussia's status as a country, since he no longer technically is. And I read this really sad thing once where Prussia-chan disappeared entirely. D: I won't do that, promise.

Anywho . . . Prussia is notably one of the only nations that ever remembers who Mattie is, along with Francis and Al of course. So that's why I like him with Canada-tan. It's cute. (not that I don't obviously have a soft spot for Gil and Elizaveta together too. Lol.) Oh, and yeah, he totally writes in his diaries everyday. Remember his entire ROOM full of them in the web comic?

Next chapter will be a normal one, I swear. (well, as normal as you can got for a chapter that starts with Japan "Touch-Myself" angst. Ahahahahahaha!)


	19. Chapter 19

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Ideal Blue**

*The year is now 1953*

Slow and painful months were beginning to pass into slow and painful years. Japan's house became more and more decorated with framed black and white photos, rather than the wall scrolls and sutras of before. A few he'd taken himself, but most of them he'd received in packages without a sender's name. Though it wasn't hard to guess who sent them. Presently, he was kneeled on a cushion beside one of his low tables, sipping at a cup of tea with glazed eyes. The picture he had his attention focused on sat on the table, one of his older ones from a few years back, but one of his favorites all the same.

He'd never been to the memorial himself, though the reason it was there at all was his own handiwork. He had received a little over a dozen pictures of the place, but this one was the one he liked the best. It was taken in the viewing area, the camera pointed at the window towards the remains of the U.S.S Arizona. And because it was taken out a window, he could just barely make out America's reflection, holding the tilted camera over one eye.

Sipping at his tea again, Kiku ran a hand through his dark hair with unease. He wondered what that scar looked like on the younger nation. The scar he'd given him on December 7th during the war. Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine it. The white and faintly pink indentation on the blonde's skin, down one his right hip just below the top of his pants and-

Kiku's eyes snapped open, and he slapped himself forcefully on the cheek. _Nope, no, don't go there. Bad idea,_ he thought. _Why would anyone think about that Teme like that?_ He stood up, shaking his head at the thought. A shower would be good now. A long, hot shower to make him forget the strange fantasy he'd nearly had. Ridiculous.

Pulling off his informal yukata, he reached over and turned the water on, feeling it with a hand until to was the right temperature before he stepped in. The nation didn't particularly feel like washing, that was what he had the traditional Japanese style bathroom for. No, just a rinse. More to clear his mind rather than his body though. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair once more and to his neck, unconsciously following a zigzag pattern down to his upper left chest. He bit his lip when his fingertips came in contact with the first scar, feeling a tingling, numb ache. Though it had been years, the pain didn't leave. Yes, it wasn't as intense as before, but it was still there, a constant reminder. Though it had changed to a gentle, bruise-like throb now more than anything.

"_Don't reopen the wounds, you idiot."_

"_You hate me, don't you. I hate me too, you know?"_

"_. . . Because it's my responsibility. I didn't have to do anything he said. I chose to." _

"_You're really . . . Never going to forgive me . . . Are you."_

His hand slid lower, and the Asian nation sucked in a shaky breath as he ran his fingers over the second scar on his lower stomach. He traced it slowly, pressing down on it until it sparked with pain.

"_I could . . . Read it to you, if that's okay."_

"_You might want to hang on to me, kay?"_

"_Everyone wants to hold hands with the hero!"_

"_Be quiet and listen to me for a moment . . ." _

It would be a lie to say that he'd never dreamed about the other country. The visions were almost nightly. But they were simply memories, this was something else entirely. Blue eyes hidden beneath glasses and sandy blond hair were burned into his mind. Western people really were beautiful, all those different hair and eye colors. And Japan had to admit that the Nazi's had chosen the ideal with that perfect mix of gold and sky-blue. It was his own longing now, and it made his heart ache to think he could never have it.

"_Get into that car, and don't look back."_

_No, no. Stop thinking like that. This standstill between Ivan and him can't last forever, can it?_ Kiku shook his head, making droplets of water fly everywhere as he replaced the brief vision of blood with that of blue eyes once more. He licked his lips, imagining how the blonde's lips would taste. A strange, yet welcomingly unique flavor he couldn't put a name to, with the faintest hint of strawberries. It was one of the only fruits you didn't have to force the stubborn nation to eat.

He could recall leaning against the that broad chest as he'd slipped between sleep and fevered consciousness. And he now pictured his fingers splayed out across that bare skin and toned muscles, and he shivered, his breath catching in his throat. He knew he shouldn't be thinking something like this, but he couldn't help it. Even before the war had started, his eyes had been drawn to the youngest nation, and vise versa. Unconsciously, he let his hand drop down the last few inches to his arousal, his other hand taking it place on the second scar. He made small, pressured circles around the healed wound, chewing at his lip until it bleed, whimpering in a mixture of pleasure of pain as he touched himself.

He shouldn't be thinking this, he really shouldn't. But he continued to run his fingers across his hardened member, sucking the blood from his lip in frustration. He didn't want to remember, had been trying not to for a few months now. He didn't need this painful ache in his heart and twin scars. But it was there, all the same. Just like the blue eyes seemingly forever etched in his mind.

"_Kiku, come here."_

No, stop.

"_Kiku . . ."_

Why did it have to be that Teme? Kami, it wasn't fair. America shouldn't call him by that name, he didn't have the right. Yet he always had. Hardly ever calling him his nation title, always Kiku. Always. And now the sound of his human name on the younger man's lips echoed in his ears as he moaned and thrust into his hand, the hot water cascading down his back as he leaned heavily against the tiled shower wall. He wanted to know what it would feel like, to kiss him, to touch him. To have the blond _inside_ of him. They say that separation makes the bond grow stronger, and Japan knew they were right. Because, no matter how much he longed for it, it couldn't happen. Not now, possibly not ever. He'd made a promise to stay neutral, and he wouldn't break it for something as stupid as this.

He gasped as he came harshly against the tile, biting the stinging wound on the inside of his lip again. The name escaped him, the one he'd been refusing to say, or think. It hurt to much. "America . . . Alfred . . ." No honorifics, no unnecessary insults that he never really meant. _Please . . ._ He begged, falling to his knees beneath the water that was starting to run cold after the time he'd spent under it. _Please . . . Just don't let him die. Anything but that. Don't let these nightmares come true. I just . . . Want to see him one more time. Kami, is that such a selfish wish? For me to want that smile and laugh and those pure-blue eyes_ _all to myself?_

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

England was breathing hard as he ran, splashing through the swampy mud to fling himself into a nearby ditch as a grenade went off somewhere behind him. He covered his head with his hands, dust and ash flying over the top of the ditch. Coughing, he stood up and scrambled out the other side, slipping and sliding in the mud again. He heard angry voices off to his right, and he dug another grenade out of his pocket, firing behind him with his handgun as he bit the clip out and tossed the base over his shoulder.

He was about to duck to the ground as he felt the ground shake with the blast when a hand grabbed him by the collar, tugging him behind a large rock as the flames and smoke rushed past and sizzled overtop of his head just above the stone. Panting, he put his back up against that of his savior, pointing his handgun out from behind the rock and firing to scare off any would be stragglers left following them. "Th-thanks Alfred," he wheezed, cocking the gun and thrusting it back into his belt. "Thought I was a goner there, bloody hell . . ."

America nodded, wiping sweat and grime off his brow with a hand, accidentally smearing blood there in the process. "Anytime Iggy," he whispered, leaning heavily against the older man's back as he slumped down to the ground in exhaustion. "This fucking sucks, doesn't it. Damn it . . ." He looked down, noticing the gash on his hand and pulled off the glove with his teeth, tossing it aside as he fumbled through his back pocket for some gauze. Glancing at Arthur, he noticed the older nation watching him with worry, "Just a scratch," he reassured, though he held out the hand for England to look.

Arthur shook his head, casting a wary gaze around them again as he began to bandage his comrade's hand. "We should have never gotten into this mess," he murmured, tearing the gauze off with his teeth and tucking it in, "It's fucking insane."

Alfred smiled, "I know. You didn't have to come here though, Iggy. This was my problem to begin with, not yours." He shook his head, rubbing the blood from his eyes, "How's Francis?"

England's gaze fell, "He's . . . He's very sick." His voice betrayed the worry he felt, his hands shaking slightly as he passed the gauze back to Alfred. "I . . . Don't know what I'm supposed to do . . ."

The younger blond smiled, "Well, how about you let me wrap things up here, okay? Go home, Arthur."

The older nation raised a characteristic eyebrow, "Alfred . . . We've been at this for three bloody years, do you think you can just wrap it up in a single night? Without me here?"

"I kicked your ass in a single night, didn't I?" Alfred laughed. "And anyways I'm the hero, it'll be fine." He waved his hand nonchalantly at the older man, "Get going. I'll take care of everything here."

Arthur hesitated, reaching out to take Alfred's face between his hands. Something was wrong. "Are you sure _you're_ okay?" he whispered, emerald eyes meeting dark blue. _Dark blue? _"Alfre-"

America jerked back, "It's nothing, get out of here, okay? Everything will be fine, promise." He ducked out from behind the rock, making a dash for enemy lines, "Just get out of here!" he called over his shoulder, "You'll see me again in a few days, all right?"

England stared after him, beginning to back up to where he knew the rest of their troops were. Maybe it was best if he got out of here after all. He didn't want to see what would happen, and at the same time, he wanted to run after the country he'd raised, stop him from doing something he'd regret. But he had the sinking feeling that it was already to late.

"_Everyone makes mistakes, you and I both know that. And I'm sure, one day, he'll make some too, though he probably already did in his own mind. He'll learn from them, and that's that. He's strong, Arthur. And if you'd take a step back and realize that he hasn't needed you for almost two hundred years, you'd have realized that by now."_

The blond swallowed, taking a few more steps back. That's right, Francis was still sick, he needed to get back. It had been months since he'd had the time to go home at all. Alfred had said everything would be fine, so he should believe him . . . Right?

Kiku kept a hand on the katana strapped to his waist, his dark eyes scanning the bloodshed before him warily. He hadn't meant to come out here, it really wasn't his place, it wasn't his war. Though it was his fault. If he hadn't taken over this land in the first place, the Soviet Union and America wouldn't have each been left with control over separate halves. He sighed, casting another glance around the area before he began to move forward, ducking and weaving behind and between the tall palms. It was only a few moments before he was breathing heavily, it had been years since he'd done any sort of combat training. It wasn't allowed in his country anymore, which was one of the reasons he'd been forced to come alone. He had no military. But even so, he had to come. Had to see.

He could hear voices up ahead, and he crouched down behind another tree, hand never straying from his blade.

Steel clashed on steel as America skipped sideways, drawing out his sword just in time to block a possibly fatal blow. He wasn't used to fighting with a blade, like some of the older countries, he was lucky he still carried one at all. Smirking, he used his superior muscle and weight to throw his attacker off balance, "Give it up already," he hissed.

Korea smirked, putting a hand on the back of his own sword as he stood up again, using the force of both hands to push America back. "Can't do that ~ da ze. I need control over both halves of my land." His dark eyes narrowed, "You know what that's like, don't you. It's horrible, like you're physically being ripped in two. And every blow can only hurt yourself, no one else." He raised his voice, "I was born as Korea, and that's how I want to stay! Both halves are mine, and you have no right to tear me in two like this! It's killing me!"

"Then just give up!" the blond retorted angrily, "Tell your people to fight against that Commi bastard!"

"I'm fighting on Aniki's side!" Korea growled dangerously, "And that's not going to change for the likes of you." He smiled darkly, thrusting his sword forward and watching with satisfaction as the other nation narrowly dodged it. "Especially not you. It's your fault it's like this, yours and Nii-chan's. And I have no reason to put my faith in either of you ever again."

America narrowed his eyes, lunging forward and plunging his sword into the other country, just below his ribs, slicing sideways. Blood splashed across the mud from the cut, and Yong-Soo fell forward, shock in his eyes as he gasped in pain. "I call a cease fire," Alfred hissed coldly, "Along this line. You will never be one nation again, Korea."

Japan covered his face with his hands, holding back a sob. He'd come to see America, even from a distance. This wasn't what he'd come here for. Kami, he hated war, he hated it so much. The blue eyes that he'd slowly fallen in love with had turned icy cold, and darker than the shade they'd been before. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had to remain neutral. He'd promised. He'd promised to stay out of wars from now on.

But this war was over now, wasn't it? Wouldn't the darkness eventually fade from America's gaze if he stopped fighting? Kiku could only pray.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

It was the next morning before Korea awoke again, a searing pain still sparking across his chest where the gash was. He blinked weakly, the sunlight painfully bright against his eyes. He could hear voices talking softly around him, and he tried to bring his mind back from the horrible pain to focus on them.

"You'll look after him, right ~ aru?"

"Of course," another voice said softly. "We should be able to move him now, right?"

"Yes ~ aru. He's stopped bleeding, thank god. Tell him . . . Tell him I'm sorry ~ aru. Sorry that we dragged him into this."

Korea struggled to open his eyes fully. _No, stop, Aniki . . . Don't go, don't leave, Aniki. Please . . ._ He whimpered as he was suddenly lifted off the ground and up into strong arms. His vision was blurred, and he could just make out his older brother's back over the shoulder of whoever was carrying him. "A . . . Aniki . . ." His voice cracked and broke, it hurt to speak.

China looked up briefly, his eyes clouded with regretful tears when he turned his back to them again, walking away.

"Aniki!" Korea screamed, desperation in his voice, "Aniki, no! Don't go! Don't leave me here! Aniki!"

A hand covered his mouth, and the person carrying him tucked the sobbing nation against his shoulder, stifling the cries. "Don't," the person whispered, "Don't call out to him. Don't try and talk."

"I'm supposed to stay with him," Korea murmured against the shoulder, choking on his tears, "Why are you taking me away from him! I'm Korea! Aniki raised me! Let me go!" He lifted dark eyes up to the person holding him, shocked to see who it was. "H-Hong Kong? Why?"

"I'm the only one who can look after you right now," the city whispered. "Japan is neutral, Taiwan is still repairing her economy, and Aniki is still of the Soviet side."

"So am I," Korea protested, clutching at the wound that was beginning to throb with the effort of talking.

"Not anymore," Hong Kong murmured, looking away. "America . . . He's officially labeled you as South Korea now, whether the other land is still in your control or not."

"No . . ." Yong-Soo's breath caught in his throat. "That can't be! I'm one nation! There's only one Korea! That can't be!"

Hong Kong shook his head, clutching Korea closer to him as he walked. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry . . ."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Ivan twirled the phone cord around his finger as he listened to it ring against his ear. He still needed more time, and that idiot sibling of Yao's hadn't been enough of a distraction. He still had one more option, besides trying to start another full scale war himself.

"Hello?" a voice answered on the other side of the line.

Russia smiled, "It's me, do you remember what we talked about before? Are you up for it? It would be a great help for our cause."

A female voice laughed in his ear, "Up for it? I'm up for anything you throw at me. Besides, this should be interesting enough. I hear this America guy is tougher than he looks, he got my older brother the other day, correct?"

"Yes," Ivan replied dryly. "So when can we count on your support?"

"Give me a year or so to get everything together," she replied. "But go ahead and start spreading as many rumors as you'd like, Soviet. That'll make him start to panic all over again, won't it." She laughed, "I'll give you a call when I'm ready, okay?"

Ivan chuckled, "That's fine. We're counting on you now, Vietnam."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Poor Korea . . . It always bothered me that there was only one Korea in the manga, and that he was officially labeled as South Korea. So I went with my own theory on that whole thing. *thumbs up* and Ameri-tan is starting to turn scary.

I have never seen a picture of Vietnam, so her first appearance here is over the phone. *le sigh* she's not an official character, is she. I tried to look on the Hetalia Wikia one time. Whatever, I'll just go with the theory that she's a girl then, cause that's how Lucky and Angel make her.

The opening was reeeaaallly hard to write. And I couldn't find the scene in this one fic I wanted to use to help me write it. Argghhh . . . So hopefully, it turned out okay. Anywho . . . Lalala . . . Short chapter this time, long one next time. With either Germany and Italy smut, or Francis and England troubles. Maybe both.


	20. Chapter 20

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Affections Touching Across Time**

Italy was nervous. Okay, he was usually nervous, but today was different. He'd decided, and he was determined. So it was too late to change his mind now. At least he kept telling himself so. This wasn't something to be a coward about. And besides, he really wanted it. Or he thought he did. But now he was so nervous he couldn't tell the difference between right and left, so maybe he'd been lying to himself.

Germany had been away for a year and a half. And before that, he'd been in and out of the house so much, Feliciano hardly ever saw him. Things were complete chaos with that wall separating the blond from his brother. He'd had a lot of work on his hands, and had been spending a lot of time with America getting things planned out, even going out to the battle field for awhile with the younger nation down in Korea.

Feliciano hadn't wanted to be a bother, or have Germany worrying about him while he was gone, so he'd stayed at Spain and Romano's house. He was starting to wonder if anyone actually used their house in Italy, as Romano spent more time at Antonio's, and he himself at Ludwig's. Not that it mattered, but still.

It had been only just this morning when Germany got enough time off to come see him, showing up at Spain's doorstep to come and get him. Italy had been so happy, because even though years were insignificant to a country, it still seemed like a long time to him to be apart from the blond. They'd been together every day ever since they'd met as "Germany" and Italy. And personally, the separation had made him worried. It reminded him too much of the last time Germany had left with promises to return as soon as possible. Promises that weren't fulfilled until much later.

Italy had tackled him to the ground when he saw him at the door, crying like Germany had been gone for far longer. And the blond had laughed, which was a rare thing for him to do, and had whispered comforting things in Italy's ear, holding him close as they left Antonio's house, Romano yelling after them not to come back for awhile. Feliciano had hardly let go of Ludwig after that, afraid he'd leave again if he did.

The time away from each other had given the smaller country a lot to think about. About Germany and Holy Roman Empire being the same person and about his own feeling towards the blond. Biting his lip, he stared down at his pinky, remembering the last time he'd ever had such thoughts.

"_Ah, I just thought something really embarrassing, good thing Doitsu can't read my mind, ve."_

He laughed softly, remembering why he'd said that the day they'd made their pinky promise. It really had been a weird thought, at the time. But while they were apart, he thought about it a lot. Especially considering whose house he'd been staying in. The first night he'd heard them, he'd been so mortified he couldn't sleep.

He loved Germany, he really did. He'd loved him for a long time as both the man he was now and as Holy Roman Empire. But deep down, he knew that the one he loved more was Germany as he was now. Just Germany. He blinked, hearing the water in the shower turn on down the hall. It really was now or never, who knew when Ludwig could be called away again for more work. Or worse, captured by Ivan. Italy shuddered at the thought; that was the last thing he wanted.

Unbeknownst to most people, Italy was actually one of the most stealthy nations alive. He had to be, since he sneaked away from more battles than he'd fought in. And he'd used his skills to slip in and out of Germany's room over the years, which made the larger nation more than a little surprised when he'd wake up to find Italy sleeping in his bed.

So it was that Ludwig was even more surprised than usual when Italy managed to sneak up on him tonight. He started when the younger man's arms wrapped around him from behind, his chest against the blonde's back, the water from the shower still pouring down around them. Germany peered over his shoulder, "F-Feliciano, what are you doing?"

Feliciano buried his face against Ludwig's back, "I missed you," he whispered, as if that would explain everything.

Germany turned, running his fingers through the other nation's auburn hair, "Yes," he murmured, "I know. But that doesn't mean that you have to sneak up on me in the shower. It's a little awkward." He wasn't going to mention that this wasn't the first time the other had done so, the last time had been embarrassing enough, especially after Japan had walked in.

Italy leaned up suddenly, catching Germany's lips against his own in a light kiss. "Ludwig, ti amo," he said quietly, brown eyes looking uncertain as he looked up at the taller man.

Ludwig smiled, "ich liebe dich auch," he replied, returning the kiss. "But seriously, Italia, do we have to do this in the shower?"

The auburn haired man grinned slowly, a grin that made Ludwig shiver a bit, it was a tad creepy, "No," Feliciano said slowly, "I wanted to go to the bedroom, but you were in the shower, Doitsu."

The blond froze, in mid breath too, so he choked a bit. What was it that Italy had just said? Was this really _his _Italy? The hyperactive, but completely clueless nation? No, it couldn't be. Was he actually suggesting . . . Ludwig chanced a look down at the other country, and smiled a bit, noticing that Italy himself appeared a bit startled about what he'd said, looking highly embarrassed. Yeah, it was still the same Italy, with some very strange ideas in his head at the moment.

He ran his fingers through the younger man's hair again, "Feliciano, don't push yourself-"

"I-I'm not!" Italy interrupted, "I thought about it a lot, I did! And I . . ." He looked away, "W-with Ludwig . . . It would be alright . . ." He swallowed, "I want to try."

Whoa. Germany put a hand to his forehead, feeling like the world was spinning around him. This must have been the last thing he ever expected Italy to say. It sounded like an oxymoron. "Wait-"

Feliciano began to look panicked, "But, but Ludwig! You read all those dirty things Kiku gave you! So why not?!"

Germany blushed, "Wha- quit snooping around in my room!" Italy was starting to bawl now, and the blond rolled his eyes, curling an arm around the other nation's back, "Feliciano, calm down." He took a deep breath, "What do you want me to do?"

The auburn haired man flushed, pressing his forehead against Germany's chest, "I . . . I'm scared Germany's going to go away again. I . . . want to be with Germany, ve."

The blond turned his gaze to the ceiling, unsure of what he should do, "All right," he muttered finally. "Give me five minutes to finish up my shower, okay?" He waited as Italy smiled and dashed off before turning off the water, a heavy sigh escaping him. Five minutes should be enough time for that pasta-head to think about what he was asking before he got out there. Not that Germany _wanted_ Feliciano to change his mind; that just seemed like the better option. Because if anyone was emotionally unstable, it was Italy. Something like this . . . It would mean he was choosing the person he was now, over Holy Roman Empire. It would be a decision he couldn't go back on, and Germany didn't want it to be something they both regretted later.

Running his hands through his still damp hair, he made his way out of the bathroom, pulling on a pair of pants. But as he entered the bedroom, he was surprised to find Italy sitting there, waiting for him. He smiled slightly, "You had a chance to change your mind just now, you know."

"I know," Italy replied steadily, meeting his eyes as he returned the smile hesitantly, "But isn't that sort of cowardly? I'm tired of being a coward, Doitsu."

Ludwig sat down beside him, reaching over to touch the onyx and silver metal cross that the smaller country was still wearing around his neck. "No, it's not cowardly at all," he murmured. "Feliciano . . . What does this necklace mean to you?"

Feliciano leaned back on the bed a bit, eyes slightly glazed as he fingered the trinket thoughtfully, "It . . . Reminds me of what we could have been. You, me, and Japan." He glanced at his companion, seeing the dark, regretful look cross the blonde's face, "And that, even if it's painful . . . Even if that time seems to have been nothing but regrets and hours filled with the lies our bosses told us . . . That doesn't mean that _I_ regret that time." Leaning over, he pressed his palm against the identical necklace on Germany's chest, "Because I got to spend that time with you, and Kiku too. I don't regret that."

"People died because of us," Ludwig said, closing his eyes, "innocent people, because we believed what our bosses said. We thought we were truly going to make a better world . . ."

"No, not because of us," Italy whispered. "We are only the nation. We can't protect every person who lives on our land, it's impossible. We make mistakes, so does everyone. It . . . It's not the boss that shapes the country," he murmured quietly, repeating what America had said. The auburn haired man sat up straighter, scootching across the sheets until he straddled the blonde's legs, "And, no matter what, Ludwig is Ludwig."

Germany blinked open his eyes again, reaching up to tangle a hand in the other country's hair, "Can I kiss you?" he whispered softly.

Italy laughed, "Ve, Doitsu. Of course you can." He allowed the blond to tilt his head down, opening his mouth slightly to taste the taller nation. "Love you (trans ita)," he smiled against the other's lips, laughing when he felt the other smile back.

Ludwig growled teasingly, leaning forward and toppling the smaller nation backwards onto the mattress. He hovered over Italy for moment, the later of the two still laughing, before kissing him again, tentatively flicking his tongue out to caress the other man's lips. All of their kisses before now had been innocent, nothing more than what they'd shared as children. But as Italy tilted his head and opened his mouth to allow him more access, the innocence vanished. The blond let his tongue explore the inside of Feliciano's mouth, the top, the inside of his cheeks, and finally the younger's own tongue, gently engaging a small battle for dominance. But just as he did in war, it wasn't long before Italy backed down, allowing Germany to take control.

The slightly older country shifted, coming to rest between Feliciano's legs as he turned his head downwards, drawing his tongue across the other's neck. Italy shivered, arching up slightly against the touch. Germany moved his hand up from Feliciano's waist to his hair again, something sparking his memory. He twisted his fingers around the long curl on the left side of the man's head, listening to the surprised intake of breath that resulted and the way Italy arched up towards him again, their hips colliding.

"Nnn . . . Doitsu, not there," Feliciano murmured against his ear, trailing a hand down the blonde's bare back. Germany ignored him, sitting up on his knees a bit as he slid his other hand down Italy's leg. The younger nation shivered again, "Under the pillow," he whispered.

Germany reached around behind Italy's head to grab the bottle that was more or less hidden, holding it up, "When did you get this?"

"Antonio gave it to me years ago as a joke," Feliciano laughed, "I didn't get the joke at the time though."

The blond shook his head, "Well, you do now, right?" He opened the bottle, pouring some of its contents into his palm and rubbing it over his first two fingers, the other nation watching him with glazed eyes and a growing, nervous blush. Germany leaned over him again, capping the bottle and raising one of Italy's legs onto his shoulder. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" Italy nodded, but smiled after a moment, "Ludwig, isn't that a saying? Love hurts?"

Ludwig tried not to laugh in response as he slid his first two fingers inside the smaller country, noticing the sharp intake of breath and the brown eyes flickering closed. He ducked down, locking his lips with Italy's as he stretched him. The blond could feel the other's tears against him cheeks, but he didn't say anything. If Feliciano wanted to remain silent, then he would too. He pulled back after a few more moments, drawing his fingers out.

Feliciano made a small, disappointed noise at the loss, tangling his arms underneath the larger country's and pulling him closer. Germany rested his forehead against Italy's shoulder, murmuring small nothings in his ear as he pressed inside him, the younger's nails digging into his back. He stayed still, listening to Feliciano's ragged breathing and waiting for him to adjust. "Doitsu," he whispered suddenly, tilting his head to catch the blonde's lips against his own, "ti amo. . . appena il senso siete."

Germany blinked, drawing back slightly before he murmured in reply, "Selbst wenn ich mich nicht erinnere, habe ich Sie… seit die neun Hunderte… geliebt." He pulled out, thrusting back inside, reaching up a hand to wipe away some of the tears from Italy's eyes. "Italia, ist es geldstrafe wenn ich liebe dich für immer?"

Italy gave him a small smile, taking the hand that was hovering over his cheek and twining their fingers together. "If I may do the same," was the soft reply. He arched his back and cried out as Ludwig thrust into him again, the blond managing to hit that special spot. The older man's free hand curved around his back, pulling him impossibly closer. He groaned audibly when he pressed in again, immune to the gashes Feliciano was leaving on his back. The younger moved his empty hand up to the slicked blond hair, messing up whatever gel was in it with a satisfied moan as Germany pushed into him repeatedly. His fingers tangled into the blond locks as he came against the other nation's stomach, arching up again.

Feliciano clenched around Ludwig as he came, making the blond hiss at the pleasurable, but unbearable tightness. And Italy cried out again when Germany released inside him, hot seed rushing into him and making him writhe. His breath came in small, short gasps as the other country pulled out, rolling away to lay on his side. Feliciano watched him a moment, noticing the worry on his face.

Reaching out hand, he ran it through the other's ruffled hair again, "Ve, Ludwig," he laughed softly, tiredly, "can we take a bubble bath?"

Ludwig stared at him a moment, a smirk playing in the corners of his mouth, "Of course."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

England swept back stray locks of hair from Francis's eyes, worry etched clearly on his face. Sweat covered the older man's forehead, and his breathing was ragged and pained. Arthur closed his eyes, reaching down to take France's hand in his own. The last time he'd seen a country this sick was when America caught that horrible cold after the first Great War. And once again, there was nothing he could do.

"Hey," a hand brushed against England's cheek, making him jump slightly. Francis was smiling up at him, blue eyes glazed, "Oh, mon cheri, you'll catch it too if you keep coming over here."

Arthur forced a smile, "Yeah right," he scoffed weakly. "And besides, if I didn't come, no one else would."

Francis laughed softly, "Oui, that's probably true." He turned his head, staring up at the white ceiling. "I wonder . . . What happens to countries when they die . . ."

"Don't-"

"Humans believe that there's an afterlife. But . . . We don't have any specific religions, being who we are. What are we supposed to believe in?"

Arthur reached over, covering the other's mouth, "Please stop. Don't say things like that. You're not going to die."

"Mon Arthur," Francis sighed, pushing the other's hand away and running his fingers along England's cheek again, "Je t'aime."

England blinked in shock, "W-what? Don't say things like that either! I told you you're not going to die!"

"There's nothing you can do about things like that, cheri," Francis murmured quietly, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.

The younger nation stared at him a moment, his mind whirling, flashing back briefly to what he'd seen America doing to heal Kiku. "Yes I can!" he burst out louder than he'd intended. Crawling up onto the bed beside the older man, he slipped underneath the blankets, arms wrapping tightly around him. "This is how it works, right? Like Alfred did? It can work . . ."

Francis looked startled, "Cheri, your economy's not much better than mine! You can't!"

Arthur ignored him, burying his face into the folds of France's nightclothes. "I'm . . . I'm not the kind to just stand by and do nothing," he whispered. "So, even if it's just a little . . . I want to help. I want to help you."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Kiku was surprised to find another package on his doorstep. He thought Alfred was still recovering from the war in Korea, he wasn't expecting any more gifts for at least a few more years. He smiled slightly as he picked it up, hoping that maybe that just meant that he mattered enough for war and economy to come second. But that was wishful thinking probably.

Opening it, he was surprised that out of the entire box, there was only one photo inside. As usual, it was laying in the tissue paper facedown with the date scribbled on the back. But when Japan turned it over, he nearly dropped with the pleasant shock that went through him. On the photo paper was what looked at first to be simply a flower resting against the camera-holder's lips. It wasn't just a flower.

It was a chrysanthemum.

The dark haired nation ran a hand over is eyes, concealing any tears from anyone who may have been watching. He didn't know America had known, he hadn't asked the whole time they'd been together, and he said he hardly spoke Japanese at all.

But in English, Kiku meant chrysanthemum.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Russia smiled as he held the phone to his ear, "They're ready to be set up? That's perfect. Yes, of course. Yes. Well he is a common enemy." He laughed darkly, "Ready in a month? Perfect." Without another word, he hung up, staring at the wall as if he could see something beyond it. He might not need Vietnam after all, the way things were going. In fact, he might just be able to eliminate America in a few short months. Turning in his seat, he caught hold of China by the shoulder, turning the smaller man to face him.

China was sufficiently surprised when Russia kissed him out of the blue, but he didn't especially mind. Smiling against the other's lips, he asked, "Good news?"

"As always," Ivan purred, levering the older nation up onto the table. "I have a plan that can get us out from underneath that bastard's watchful eye in no time."

"Do tell," Yao smirked, licking Russia's lips teasingly. His eyes widened slightly when Ivan leaned down, whispering the details in his ear.

"There's only one problem we have to sort out," Russia smiled, sliding his hands beneath China's shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. "Can you take are of it for me?"

"Anything," China replied smoothly, untangling Ivan's scarf with ease.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Sorry the chapter was not only late, but short too. D: but I had, no joke, major writer's block here. Mostly on the GerIta scene. I felt like I was corrupting their innocence! GAH! (says the girl with GerIta smut doujinshi. = 3= ) and I spent a good portion of the week messing around and reading My Life Is Average online. :]

Anywho . . . I had a horrible experience of the library computer literally eating my MP3. All my songs, videos, doujinshi, and most of my Hetalia pixiv collection stored on there vanished. Lovely. So I've been spending time trying to recover said files, as in, reuploading every single one. :p it's so not fun. And I don't know what I'm going to do about the Doujin. I can get the Full Metal Alchemist Daen ones for sure, and some of the Tsubasa Resvior ones (most are irreplaceable). But I can't remember where the Hetalia ones came from. :[ I had a few random ones, and Pirates Of The World, and a ChinaxRussiaxBelarus for sure. *shrugs*

Does anyone have a copy of the America character CD yet? It came out a few days ago, but I don't have the songs yet. Want. Oh, one more thing, I'm starting yet ANOTHER Hetalia story. I must be on crack, or something, to keep doing this. I need to stop downloading new music, it gives me visions of plot bunnies. Soooo . . . Anywho, here's a brief summary and such of it. It should be out today, with a new Notes of A Love Song on Wednesday or Thursday.

**One Last Fairytale**

AU

Alfred is the youngest prince of his country, the only biological child of King Arthur and King Francis. But no matter how much he wishes it was true, he knows deep down that there's are no such thing as the "Happily Ever After" in fairytales. Eleven years ago from his eighteenth birthday, a tragedy occurred in the palace, one that no one dares speak of. At the age of seven, the prince had already given up on living, until his older "brother" Ivan convinced him that somehow, every story truly will end like in the fairytales, never mentioning that his heart was just as broken as Alfred's. And now, on the blonde's eighteenth birthday, his parents insist on holding a Masquerade to find him a suitable princess or prince to rule at his side when the throne becomes his. Alfred wants nothing to do with it.

Kiku, an orphaned teen whose older brother perished in the tragedy eleven years ago, has watched the prince from afar for years. And he was content in doing so until his new "family" insists he take their invitation that is meant for the eldest child of their blood. He wants to take the chance, even though he knows that real life is nothing like a storybook, and that his one wish is completely futile. A prince will never notice a commoner.

But when Kiku arrives at the Masquerade, overly protective Ivan recognizes him right away, the brother of the servant who was once his entire world. He's not about to let Alfred go through the same pain he himself did, and will do anything to stop it, even while being pestered by another guest, the heir to the Western kingdom, the crimson eyed prince.

Can life truly end in a Happily Ever After after all?

Pairings: Francis/Arthur, Alfred/Kiku, Ivan/Yao, Ivan/Gilbert.

And then all the usual back burner guys too, including Ludwig/Feliciano (what's a Hetalia fic without them?), Antonio/Lovino, Roderich/Elizaveta, and slight hints of Alfred/Mathew and Ivan/Alfred.

I HOPE YOU'LL TAKE A LOOK AT IT!


	21. Chapter 21

**A Little Drop Of Healing: The Bell Tolls**

It started with an issue about a calendar and what the current day was. That was the part that pissed England off the most. No, it wasn't April Fool's Day. And no, that piece of paper he'd scribbled on in his fury and embarrassment was not actually a calendar. There were a lot of things that had ticked the nation off over the years, but this took the cake.

He couldn't believe Francis would be such a jerk. He'd finally started to get a little better and then he goes and does something so stupid. So now, here he was, sitting on the bed after being kidnapped and watching with narrowed eyes as the older blond spoke on the phone with his boss.

"_If I don't merge with you . . . I . . . I might die!"_

The sudden change in France's attitude over his what had seemed inevitable demise was what had shocked Arthur the most. The look on his face had changed somehow when he said it, from someone who had lived too long, to someone who had suddenly realized that he had not yet lived long enough.

"_I don't want to marry you for that reason!"_

Marriage in the first place had never been a term England was all that comfortable with in the first place. He could only name a few countries that had ever actually been married. Austria and Hungary being two of the few. It wasn't just taking over the land for a prolonged period of time either, otherwise everyone at some point or another would probably really have been "one with Russia." No, it was as simple as a normal human marriage. The pair would share a name, like Austria-Hungary. They would live together, and in the eyes of every other nation, be just as much of an actual couple as anyone else.

In all technicality, he thought of marriages just like a girl would. That they were something you only did after you had decided that you loved someone. Not any of that arranged shit his people were so fond of. And this was just as bad as any of that. God knowing he'd probably kill himself if his boss agreed to such a thing. There was no love behind an arranged marriage.

Then again, who was he to talk as the person who slept about when he got bored and couldn't remember who he'd slept with some of the time. The definition he applied to holy matrimony was what one would normally use in this day and age about sex. He snorted slightly at the thought.

But his retort rang in his head over and over again. Really, he should have just said "I don't want to marry you," and ended the conversation then and there. But instead, he'd tacked on those words _"For that reason,"_ at the end. And he still couldn't understand why.

He'd said it out of anger, yes. But he realized as he had been saying it that somewhere deep down, he was hurt. Hurt that Francis would ask something so bluntly, and for such a ridiculous reason as not wanting to die. Not that England really wanted him to die, it just sounded stupid when said out loud.

It made him wonder what reasons would be acceptable to him if the situation arose again. Would the words "I love you" have been valid to his ears? Somehow, he doubted it. It wouldn't make a difference when France said it, since he said that to everyone at some point or another. He'd said it a lot when they were younger. "Angleterre, I love you," and things like that just for laughs.

"_Mon Arthur . . . Je t'aime . . ."_

Arthur blinked and shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about that now, not when he was still mad about the entire situation. But if he did give it a moment's pause, he had to admit that Francis's tone had, for once, been completely sincere that day. England rolled his eyes and shooed the thought away with the excuse of the older nation playing a sympathy card to lead up to this idiocy.

He looked up as Francis suddenly hung up the phone, noticing the half relieved, half annoyed look on the other's face.

"You can go now if you like," France muttered, staring down at the ground, "Your boss blew the whole thing off, not that I didn't expect that."

"Then why'd you try in the first place," Arthur snapped sharply.

"Cherie, it was my boss's orders. Since when have we ever been able to disagree?" Francis answered smartly.

England was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed, "I'm still mad at you, orders or not."

Francis looked surprised, "Why, cherie?"

The younger blond let out a frustrated hiss at the nickname, "Stop calling me that, especially after today, you frog. Calling me that, telling me you love me, I've had enough of it. Don't fool around if you're not going to at least use the same tactics to propose." He stood up from the edge of the bed, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to use your shower and wash off my mortification at this whole affair."

France merely nodded and stared after him with a confused and taken aback expression. He knew Arthur would be mad, hell who wouldn't be? But at the same time, he was surprised to hear such a thing all the same. He wasn't mad about being proposed to, he was mad about _how_ he was proposed to.

England had let the hot water run out before he exited the shower, more out of exhaustion than spite, though there was indeed a little of that too. A few coins more on the water bill of such a prat was always pleasing to him. But when he came back into said prat's bedroom, Francis was nowhere to be found. And rather, the whole room was looking very odd in his absence, in more ways than one.

The bed and the floor had been covered in little red rose petals, and a few candles had been placed on the dressers and shelves. Arthur wasn't sure whether the best suited reaction would be laughing, or gagging. All in all, it was definitely a corny setup, but in the end, he simply smiled with a light laugh and scanned the room once more for Francis, but again came up empty handed.

Instead of worrying, he sat down on the bed again, towel around his waist, and purposefully started to flick the flower petals off of the sheets. It was amusing to him how many flowers were always around the man's house, and on his person for that matter. A rose for every occasion, as the nation himself had stated. England wondered what the sudden occasion was right now, though he was hoping for dramatic and groveling apology.

A moment later, Francis reentered the room only to give him an annoyed look. "You couldn't have waited five more minutes to get out of the shower? I didn't even get to finish setting up!" Francis complained, waving the bouquet of roses he now held in his hand in exasperation.

"Prepare for what?" Arthur asked, raising a characteristic eyebrow with a smirk.

Francis sighed and joined him on the edge of the bed, "Well, I just thought . . ." He looked away, "You were mad, because I didn't do it right. So I . . . I wanted to show you that I can do it right."

"Huh?"

But before England could ask what the hell Francis was talking about, the older blond had gotten off the bed and down onto one knee on the floor in front of him. He handed the stunned nation the roses first, "For you, cherie."

"Wait, Francis, what-"

France silenced him by taking his hand, "Shush, let me talk, cheri. Let me show you that it's not all teasing." He reached into his pocket, drawing something out and slipping it over the ring finger of the left hand that he held, "Je t'aime, mon Arthur," he whispered, "Will you marry me?"  
Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he stared down at the ring. He would have been surprised even if it had just been a normal engagement ring, but he was startled to see that it wasn't. Instead, he found himself staring down at a glass ring with tiny flower petals pressed inside it. "No . . . It was you? You were the one that had the ring?" he asked, his heart rate rising uncontrollably, "Th-that means . . . You were the one-" He raised his free hand to his mouth, cutting off his own words.

The older nation looked away, "I'm sorry. I should have told you, I know that. But I . . . I didn't want to see you upset, cherie."

England shook his head, hand still over his mouth, "It's not that, I'm not mad at you." He closed his eyes, holding back tears, "I'm mad at me. For luring you in, I know I did. And for forgetting. You had every right to take the ring, I-"

"What are you talking about cherie?" Francis interrupted, "I didn't take the ring out of spite or anything like that. How many times am I going to have to say it before you believe me? Angleterre, Je t'aime. Je t'aime, je t'aime. Always, cherie, always." He stood up and wiped the tears that had begun to form from England's emerald eyes, "And I'm completely serious."

"Seriously crazy," England laughed slightly, stifling a hiccup.

"Crazy enough to marry?" Francis prompted with a smile, "And don't you dare say that your boss said no. Austria and Hungary are still married, even though their alliance broke up awhile back. We're people too, Arthur. Let's get married like our people do, none of that conjoined country merde."

"You really mean that?"

"Mon cherie, anything with you is enough for me. But I would indeed be honored if you'd accept," Francis murmured.

Arthur held out his hand in front of him, examining the ring with a contemplating look, "If anything is all right, then let's take it slow for now. After all, I have yet to recall anything of the night you took this in the first place."

Francis laughed, "Well, that's not all I took." He skipped nimbly aside as Arthur threw the bunch of roses at his head, "Now now cheri, no need to get mad. I can remind you in various ways any time you so choose."

"How about after I kill you?" England smirked, catching the back of Francis's shirt. Their eyes locked and the younger of the pair took half a step back, feeling his heart pounding again. But Francis merely smiled and leaned down, kissing him gently.

"How slow is 'taking it slow?'"

England groaned as France forced his tongue into his mouth, but didn't resist. He let France push him back onto the bed, falling onto the flower petals that still lay there. Reaching up, he tangled his fingers into the shoulder-length blond hair, arching up against the other with another audible groan.

France smiled, pulling back slightly, running his fingers along Arthur's bare chest, "Cheri, you're too enticing to leave alone. You should have known better than to only wear a towel when in my house."

Arthur arched up again as the towel was taken off and tossed to the floor, hands finding a perch on Francis's back. The older nation gasped with surprise as their positions were suddenly reversed, the world spinning around him until he huffed as his back hit the mattress. England smirked as he leaned over him, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. He flicked open the buttons on Francis's shirt with ease, tossing the item on the floor before shifting down to his pants.

France was preoccupied as Arthur fiddled with his belt, his own hands rummaging in a drawer on the bedside dresser. His fingers closing around a small bottle, he sat up a bit and held it out to Arthur with an amused look, "So, how do you want to do this, cherie?"

England pushed him back down with another kiss, taking the bottle from him, "Let me handle everything this time," he replied smoothly. Opening the bottle, he slid a digit through the slick substance inside, watching it roll off his fingers for a moment before crooking his arm around behind his back.

The older man's breath caught in his throat as England stretched himself. The shorter blonde's cheeks blazed a darker shade of red with every movement, and his emerald eyes glazed over with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Francis raised his hands up to the other's chest, holding him steady, leaning up slightly to kiss him reassuringly.

Arthur sat up straighter, knees on either side of Francis's legs as he placed his hands on the other's chest for support. France's own hands lowered to the other's hips, slowly guiding him down. England groaned and bit his lip as he pushed himself down onto the older nation's hardened member, gasping slightly with the feel of it. Francis held him steady, his own breath coming up short. Somehow, this was different from that one, very drunken night. He resisted the urge to roll over and just have his way with the other, since Arthur seemed intent on going about the matter in this position instead.

The younger blond leaned over Francis again, kissing him lightly, confirming that he was all right. Using the hands that were splayed across the other's chest, he levered himself up, whimpering with the suddenly empty feeling before he lowered himself back down with twice the speed to make up for it. He shifted slightly, searching for the position that would allow him to hit that special spot, but failing after a few more movements.

Francis growled, unable to contain himself any longer, flipping Arthur over onto his back and taking over. He thrust in, fingers tangling together with England's as he managed to connect with the place the other had been searching for. He could feel the cool glass of the ring on Arthur's left hand and he smiled to himself as he repeated the movement, making Arthur gasp and squirm beneath him. It was only a few moments before Arthur released harshly against the other's chest, clenching around Francis and forcing him to cum inside.

Arthur's breathing came in short, hitched gasps as Francis pulled out, hovering over him with that familiar, concerned look in his eyes. The younger man sat up a bit, smiling slightly as he hooked an arm around the other's shoulders, kissing him as he pulled him back down. "Again," he murmured.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

America laughed uproariously into the receiver, "What? No way, is that even a real position?"  
On the other side, France laughed in the same manner, "Oui, ami, anything in the shower can be a real position. So, can we expect you for the wedding then?"

"Um, duh," America replied instantly, "It's like . . . Watching my two dads get married."

There was another loud laugh on the other end, and Francis could be heard yelling something like, "Hey, America says you're his dad!" followed by a startled and indignant noise from what was presumably England. "He says he's not that old," Francis chuckled into the phone.

"And stop talking about our sex life you cad!" England screeched from somewhere in the room, "Especially to a kid like that!"  
Alfred rolled his eyes, "Tell him I expect him to be wearing a fancy white wedding dress at the ceremony," he smirked, listening as Francis repeated the message. There was an indignant sounding yell from the other end, and France's loud laughter overlapping it. America smiled to himself, leaning back in his chair slightly. His eyes widened as the back of his head bumped against cold metal, and his hand faltered in its grip on the phone.

"I'll see what I can do about the dress," Francis chuckled after the odd moment of silence from America. He waited again for a reply, but was again met with nothing. But the line wasn't disconnected; he could hear breathing on the other end. "America?"

"Yeah, I'm here . . ." America's voice came out slow and deliberate, and Francis felt a flash of worry. Something was wrong. "Hey, Francis?"  
"Yes, ami?"

"I'm happy for you guys, you know?" he laughed quietly, but to Francis's ears, it sounded oddly forced, "Tell Arthur . . . Not to be mad at Kiku, okay? No more fighting, I don't want there to be anymore fighting between them."

Francis began to panic. This was not like America, to say something like this so suddenly. "A-America, what's-"

"And don't be mad at Ludwig either. You know better than anyone what a bad boss can do to someone, what lies can be told to make it seem like what you're doing is perfectly fine," Alfred continued as if he hadn't heard.

France blinked as the line suddenly went dead, and he dropped the phone. Arthur looked up from where he was arranging some flowers in a vase on the other side of the room, characteristic eyebrow raised questioningly. "Something's wrong," Francis whispered, standing up. "Call your boss! Something's wrong!"

America's hand was still near his ear when the phone was ripped out of his grasp and thrown against the wall, shattering on impact. Sparks flew up from the remains, but he paid them little mind, focusing his attention on the cold metal pressed against the back of his skull. His eyes narrowed, and he tried to move his hand down to the gun at his hip as discreetly as possible.

Apparently not discreetly enough, however, as the gun pointed at his head shifted to slam across his skull. Alfred stumbled out of the chair, hand raising to the side of his head. His fingers came away crimson and he fell to his knees, the other hand falling to the ground to support himself as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He blinked and turned his gaze from the blood on his hand up to the person standing over him, blue eyes meeting lavender.

Ivan smirked down at the blond, shifting the gun in his hand, "Hello, America. Long time no see." He laughed, clicking the safety off of the gun and aiming it at the other nation again, "You know what's in this, don't you?"

The blond narrowed his eyes, "How did you get so close, bastard. You shouldn't have been able to get this far."

The older country laughed again, a dark, amused laugh, "How long is it going to take you to realize that a lot of people hate you, America? It wasn't that hard. That young new neighbor of yours was very helpful. He let me set up a base and everything," he smirked, pressing the gun to America's head again.

"Cuba," Alfred hissed between his teeth, mentally blaming himself for not having realized this earlier. He tilted his head back slightly, staring up at the taller nation standing over him defiantly, "Go ahead then, shoot me if that's what you really want. You're just going to have hell to pay for it when I'm gone."

"From who?" Russia smirked knowingly. "Even if France and England care about you, once you're gone, their bosses will give in to me. They won't avenge you, if that's what you're thinking." He pressed the barrel of the gun against Alfred's head again, "And if I kill you, that brother of yours won't give me any trouble either. No one is going to save you, America."

Alfred gritted his teeth, "Who cares. A hero doesn't need saving after all. I plan to go down gallantly. So go ahead and shoot me then. Because you won't see me screaming for mercy anytime soon, bastard," he spat at the other's feet with a defiant growl, only to feel the handle of the gun hit him over the head again. He didn't fall this time though, keeping on his knees, one hand still resting on the ground. And he merely stared back at Ivan with an unwavering gaze, as if daring him to finish him off.

Kiku was in his kitchen when the phone rang, and he nearly burned himself on the gas stove as he rushed to get it. "Moshi moshi?"

"Japan, get out of the house!"

The dark haired nation blinked in confusion, "Greece-san? What's wrong? Why are you calling so suddenly-"

"Don't ask any questions!" Greece snapped, something that was very rare for him to do, "America . . . Turkey and I just got word that something is going down at America's place. They're going to come after you too, Japan. You need to leave the house as soon as you can."

Nihon nodded, though he knew this was not a motion that could be expressed over the phone, "O-of course. But don't worry about me, go help America, please." He hung up the phone before Greece could answer him, and he narrowed his eyes. "It's a little late to leave though, isn't it . . ." He shifted slightly, catching sight of the blade that was hovering dangerously near his throat. "Attacking a neutral country is pretty low, brother."

China rolled his eyes from where he was perched on the countertop, sword held out close to his younger sibling's neck, "Like you've never done that before, Kiku. As I recall, your precious America was once neutral too. And besides, I'm not here to attack you." He yawned, as if bored with the whole task already, "I'm only here to hold you back."

"Back from what?" Japan asked smoothly eyes flickering around the room for something, anything he could use as a weapon.

"From saving America, obviously. Greece just told you, didn't he? Ivan's got him cornered."

"I'm not worried about that teme," Kiku said shortly, "America can take care of himself."

"With some of those nuclear missiles pointed right at him?" China chuckled, "I think not."

Kiku felt his heart shudder to a stop. He shouldn't be worried, he really shouldn't. America . . . America could get out of this easily, just like he did everything. Right? But his mind was filled with the nightmares he'd had off and on throughout the years since he and the blond had parted. Of Ivan standing over Alfred, shooting him without remorse, right in the head. Killing him. He shivered, glancing pressed against his throat again. In this situation, he couldn't make a move to help in any way.

_Kami . . ._ He prayed,_ don't let that dream become reality. Please . . ._

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

ಠ_ಠ If you want to stick blame on anyone for my lateness, know that this time it's Lucky and Angel's fault. I was too depressed to go through with this scene for days . . . (almost a week, actually. D: ) But I swear now to you all that this fic will have a HAPPY ending for America and Japan. (by the way, I'm still sulking like no other about that. You'll understand if you've been reading Seven Little Killers.)

Anywho . . . The whole chapter was made of two scenes I've been planning since the beginning. And so, right now, we're in the final arc of the story more or less. Next chapter will have some fluff at the end, before some epic OTP bonding in the chapter after that. And then maybe one- two chapters and the end. So . . . Three to five chapters left before I wrap this up. Wow.


	22. Chapter 22

**A Little Drop Of Healing: The World We Know**

This is the chapter you might literally have all been waiting for. I know I have. The epic climax of the entire story is here, but don't worry, we still have about 3-5 chapters to go yet. :D . Review or die by Ivan's hand.

There was a two way radio on Japan's kitchen counter balanced near the stove. It had gone unused since the war and was now covered in a noticeable layer of dust. But it still worked, and that was all China needed to carry out the dark plan he and Russia had concocted. Smirking slightly, sword still held to his younger brother's throat, China reached across the counter and flicked the device on. He shifted through the channels, taking note of Japan's curious stare as he did so.

It annoyed him the way that Japan continued to look oddly calm in the face of the situation he was in. In fact, it really pissed him off. But it would only be minutes now before he made that calm look disappear. There was no way Kiku could keep that blank and uncaring look in his eyes if he actually _heard_ what Russia was doing to that idiot America.

He continued to flick through the channels, pausing with an audible groan as he came across one where the person on the other end was belting out an American rock song. China rolled his eyes and picked up the microphone, "Poland . . ." He waited, his temper increasingly rising as the person, apparently Poland, continued singing obnoxiously. "Poland!"

The singing stopped with a loud snort, "Like, what the hell, China," Poland muttered, "you interrupted my Johnny Cash impersonation!"

"You were supposed to be waiting for me to contact you, not singing crappy American music ~ aru!" China spat.

There was a gasp from the other end, "It's not crappy!" Poland whined, "Like, one day this stuff will, like, totally be the inspiration for future music world wide!"

"Just start the connection chain ~ aru," China growled, tapping his fingers of his other hand against the hilt of the sword that still rested against Kiku's throat. There was a mumbled curse from the blond and China sighed deeply, "Now, Feliks!"

"Shut up!" Poland retorted, cutting off his own voice with an audible click of two lines connecting, and his complaining was immediately replaced with off-key humming.

China's eyebrow twitched, much to Japan's amusement. The humming continued as if the owner didn't notice that he could now be heard and Wang-Yao groaned, "Prussia, please pay attention ~ aru."

There was a laugh from the other end, "I was," he chuckled, "just waiting for you to yell at me. It's very entertaining."

"Good to know," China hissed, about ready to smash the radio and just gut his brother, skipping the plan entirely. "Now can you please connect the line ~ aru?"

"Eee, so scary!" Prussia mocked, "You're just jealous."

"Jealous of what," Yao growled, loosing what little patience remained.

"It's - a - secret!" Prussia laughed, ending the conversation by connecting the lines.

The older Asian brother felt like smacking his head to the palm of his hand, but he refrained from doing so. He didn't want to give Japan the satisfaction of seeing him frustrated. This time, there was no singing or humming on the other side, but that wasn't too surprising considering who the last person to connect the lines was. "Belarus?" he asked hesitantly. He also wouldn't be surprised if she had left her post either.

"What," the reply was dangerous, the owner of the voice clearly not wanting to be a part of what was going on.

"You can connect the last line now ~ aru," China said pointedly, hinting that they too didn't need to continue the conversation.

There was an eerie silence from the other end, the only sound being faint, controlled breathing of someone who was trying to maintain a level of calm. "It's not going to work you know," Belarus stated, the creak of a chair being heard as if she was reclining back where she sat.

China could almost hear the smugness of the statement, "What, the lines won't connect ~ aru?"

"No, they'll connect just fine in a moment," Belarus said in what seemed to be an uncaring monotone. "I meant that this ridiculous plan won't work. You and Brother have lost it this time."

"You're just stalling now ~ aru," China snarled, not really caring about what she was saying. "Connect the lines."

"America won't die that easily," China could picture the all knowing smile as she said this. "He's strong like that. You and Brother just don't understand."

"You prefer that Capitalist over your brother?" China smirked.

"No," The tone changed to the "you're an idiot" air, "I love Brother more than anyone. But underestimation might be his downfall. Stalling will save both their lives." There was another click and her voice cut off as she connected the lines and China sighed with relief.

Immediately, China turned off the microphone, laying it back on the counter as a flurry of foreign sounds came from the other side. There were two sets of breathing, one sounding a bit closer than the other, and the second being labored and short.

"_The radio-_" Japan's heart lurched as the voice came over the speakers, a voice he hadn't heard in years and years. " _-What the hell? Why did you turn on my radio, Russia?!_"

"America!" Kiku screamed, ignoring the blade at his throat, "America!"

"He can't hear you, the microphone on our side is off," China hissed, pushing the sword against his sibling's neck until a thin sliver of blood trickled onto the blade.

"_The radio?_" another, eerily happy voice asked teasingly, "_Oh, that's just so that someone else can listen while you die. Won't that be lovely?_"

"_Someone . . ._" America's voice sounded confused, hesitant to ask who was listening on the other end of the line.

The Second voice, belonging to Russia, laughed, "_China, you can hear me, right? Let America hear who you have there with you._"

Wang-Yao leaned over and picked up the microphone again, holding it to Japan's mouth as he clicked it on, "Go ahead and call out to him now." To his annoyance, Kiku remained dead silent, defiance in his dark eyes. The older nation hissed between his teeth in frustration, pressing the blade against Japan's throat until another roll of blood trickled out, "Call out to him!"

"America-san," Kiku swallowed, "America-san."

"_K-Kiku?_" The reply was one of horrible realization.

"America-san, I won't die," Kiku smiled as he spoke holding back the tears that welled in his eyes, "so please don't worry about me. I'm not going to die. And I won't let you die either," he continued, choking on the words, fear for the other welling in him.

"Enough," Russia interrupted, and China moved to turn the microphone off.

Kiku slapped his hand away, taking a rapid, staggering step away from the blade as it instinctively lashed out at him. "I'm not going to die like this, and neither are you!" He yelled into the microphone, watching his brother advance on him with wary eyes, "We'll see each other again soon, I promise!"

China wrenched the microphone away from him and slapped the flat of his sword across Japan's back, throwing him to the floor and leaving the mic on just long enough for America to hear. He clicked it off and smiled darkly as the blonde's voice came over the other end, no longer able to hear what had become of Japan.

"Kiku! Kiku! Kiku!" America screamed over and over, ignoring the gun against his head, dangerously close to firing. There was only fizz from the other side, and he bit his lip, trying to tell himself that just because the audio had been cut off didn't mean that Japan was dead. He turned slightly, blue eyes dark with fury, "If he dies . . ."

Ivan merely laughed, unafraid of the scathing look directed at him, "Then you'll be together in the afterlife, da?" He smirked as America glared at him, unable to lash out in his rage with the barrel of a gun against his skull. "Don't you get it, America?" Russia smiled, "I like seeing you in pain. It's very entertaining. And this is the best kind of pain, watching your heart tear in two."  
"You'll pay," Alfred hissed, eyes narrowed dangerously beneath his cracked glasses, "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Naughty language," Russia scolded, tapping the gun against the already bloodied part of America's head, watching in satisfaction as he winced. "So, anything you want to say to Japan before you die? Anything at all? He can still hear you, you know."

The blond smiled calmly, "I can say it when I see him again. No big rush."

"You won't be seeing him again at all," Russia remined with a cold laugh. "So do you want to rethink that statement?"

Kiku shuddered as he listened to Russia's cold, uncaring voice over the radio, the sword once more against is neck. But this time, China held his hands behind his back, restraining him.

"You know I don't want to kill you ~ aru," the older nation said quietly. "So just sit still and listen and you can walk away with your life.

"Does it look like I care in the slightest what happens to me?" Japan asked, narrowing his eyes. He flicked his gaze back to the radio as he heard America's voice again.

"_Why would I rethink that? I know it's true. I don't need to say anything now when I can do it face to face later,_" Kiku smiled to himself at the words, a feeling of pride in his chest.

"Don't give in to him, America-san," he murmured.

Yao rolled his eyes, "I told, he can't hear you. So just shut up already."

"_Last chance,_" Russia yawned, sounding as if he was getting bored, and Kiku flinched at the noise of the revolving part on what must have been a simple hand-gun spinning. "_Before we start this little game of, oh . . . What's that called again? Ah, yes. Russian Roulette._" He laughed, that creepy kolkolkolkol that Japan hadn't heard in awhile, "_Catchy name, isn't it?_"

"_Bite me,_" America snarled.

"_I'm spinning it now,_" Ivan cooed, "_There's only two bullets you know. Two bullets and six slots. How long will your luck hold out?_" The cylinder clicked in place and Japan held his breath.

America stared up at the barrel of the gun as Russia aimed it directly between his eyes. He cast a glance at the radio that Russia had placed on his couch, blue eyes trained on it as if he could see the person on the other side. "Don't worry," he whispered, just loud enough for both parties to hear, "Only a one third chance there's a bullet in there. I've got time."

The blond smiled and didn't flinch as the trigger was pulled, the sound of a faint click being emited. "Blank," Ivan said, disappointed.

Alfred smirked, "Kiku, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Japan whispered, China repeating for the millionth time that the microphone was off and that America couldn't hear a word he said, "I'm listening."

He could hear the confident smile in America's voice as he spoke again, replying as if he actually could hear the other country, "_Good. Russia's right, there're some things I have to say. But I'm not going to say them right now. You said so yourself, right? We'll meet again soon. So don't worry. I . . ._" He cut off as the cylinder clicked into place again and a faint noise was made.

"_Another blank,_" Russia said lazily, the sound of him undoing the revolver and spinning it again coming over the speakers.

Alfred began to speak again as it spun, picking up where he'd left off, "_I want you to plug your ears now, Kiku._" There was another click as Ivan shifted the cylinder back into place once more. "_Please, Kiku . . ._" America whispered. "_Please, cover your ears if you can. Please. You don't need to hear this. I'll talk to you again soon, okay?_"

Japan struggled in Yao's grip, breath coming up short as he heard the revolver click in fully place, the sound a little heavier than the previous times, "America!"

"He can't hear you," China drawled, holding him back and tightening his grip.

"_And we can eat pancakes together, with powdered sugar on top,_" America continued. "_And I'll read to you again, and show you some of the great new music my people have been playing lately._" There was an almost inaudible swallowing sound, the blonde's voice growing soft, "_Kiku . . . Please don't cry._"

Kiku blinked, just now noticing the tears that were starting to trickle down his cheeks, unable to wipe them away with his hands held tight behind his back, "America . . ."

"_Kiku, don't cry for me,_" Alfred continued, his voice steady and unwavering again. "_After what I did to you, I don't deserve your tears._" Kiku struggled and screamed, trying to reach the radio in vain. "_But, you know, I'm glad that there's someone who would cry for me. I'm glad I met you, Kiku. Do you remember? I was looking for whales that day._" He broke off again, "_And I . . . I found something so much better than some silly old whales._"

And Japan screamed as the loud bang echoed through the radio and the line went dead. He kept screaming, struggling away from his brother at last, ignoring the blade that nicked his shoulder and reaching the device. But no matter how many channels he tried, no matter how many times he shook it, the line had gone dead. He sobbed, smashing the radio against the floor in frustrated anguish.

No matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he knew what had happened. America's luck had run out, the gun had gone off. He gritted his teeth and turned and icy glare towards his smug looking brother, "I'm leaving now."

"Go ahead," Yao smirked, "It's already over."

So Kiku left, slipping on his shoes and grabbing the bomber jacket from his coat rack. He slid it on as he raced out the door, tears welling in his eyes again at how it was too big for him. If nothing else, he wanted to see the body, confirm that America was gone.

America lay flat on his back from where he'd been knocked down, staring dazedly up into dark brown eyes. The broken radio was sparking and making odd noises from the floor beside him and he flicked his gaze to it briefly, noticing the perfectly round hole that had torn right through it. The hands on his chest that held him down were vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place them at the moment. Strong, broad hands a bit bigger than his own matched with wavy dark hair and eyes.

Someone else was gripping Russia's middle arm, pointing the gun away from America and towards the radio where the bullet had gone instead. His dark tousled red hat had fallen to the floor beside the ends of his long green robes, and he raised his other hand to the white mask on his face in annoyance. "Almost didn't make it in time," he remarked with a smug look over his shoulder at the person holding the blond down.

"That's because you were being all clingy when we tried to get out of the car," the person on top of America remarked lazily.

"I couldn't help it when you made those, '_oh, Turkey, I need your help_' eyes at me. It was too cute," the masked person, Turkey as he'd called himself, mocked.

The blond stared blankly up at the person on top of him again, slowly putting two and two together, "Greece?"

"I have never made such a face at you," Heracles huffed. "And America, please hold still while we deal with this guy," he added, turning back to the other nation held beneath him.

"Sure, fine," America agreed, his grip on the reality that he was not dead coming back to him, "I will lay here and pretend that this is so not awkward at all. Sounds good."

Turkey laughed, "Don't worry about it America, it'll be over in a few. But you should know that I am very jealous of you right now." He winked beneath the mask, "But I like to top, right Heracles?"

Greece snorted but didn't reply to the remark, "Just finish him off before I strangle you," he muttered.

The older nation rolled his eyes but turned back to Russia, "So, what say we come to a truce here, okays?"

Russia blinked as if he too was stunned by the turn of events, "Why would I do such a thing."

"Because if you fire at our comrade again," Turkey twisted his hand out from inside his green robes, revealing a gun similar to Russia's own and pointing it at the communist's head, "You'll get one right back. How's that sound?"

Ivan growled menacingly under his breath, "What do you want me to do."

"Disarm in Cuba. Everything, gone by morning," Greece said from the other side of the room. "And back off, for good. You can keep up your stubborn communist ways on _your_ side of the Iron Curtain. But stay away from us."

The taller nation shook his head, "That's not a fair trade. America should disarm in Turkey too. No deal."

"I'll do it," the blond piped up from beneath Greece.

Turkey's smile fell, "No fun," he complained, shifting the gun in his hand, "I rather like this thing. It makes people scared of me." He turned his eyes to Greece again, "But you'll still be scared of me, right?"

"No."

The older nation made a face, "No fun at all." He reached his hand up to snatch Russia's gun from him, tossing it harmlessly across the room, "Gone." He tossed his own revolver to Greece, who caught it easily. "And that one'll be gone as soon as you leave. You have our word." He grinned, "Oh, and official documents are being signed by our bosses right now. So no back stabbing, okays?" He gave Russia little, unfriendly shove towards the open door, making the "I'm watching you" sign with his first two fingers as he left.

Greece sat up, letting America go as soon as Russia was out of his line of sight. "I'm sorry we're late," he said quietly.

America smiled reassuringly, "No, no. Believe me when I say that I am _so _glad to see the two of you here." He wiped a hand over his eyes, "I thought . . . I thought for a moment that I was really going to die there . . ." His blue eyes snapped over to the radio, "Oh . . . Oh no . . ."

Heracles raised an eyebrow at the alarmed look on America's face as he took in the sight of the broken radio, "I can get you a new one if you'd like."  
"No, it's not that," Alfred said, his voice almost a whisper, "Kiku . . . China was on the other side, making him listen. He must have . . . Oh, god . . . What did he hear?"

"You talking and then a gunshot and a dead radio," Turkey cut in with a bored look, "so what? We came here first because we knew that China wouldn't kill his brother. Nihon is fine. Ten bucks says so."

The younger European nation shot his blunt companion a glare, "Shut up, idiot. What would you think if you heard that?"

"Who's on the other side?" Turkey asked, as if it mattered, "You or America, who's at gunpoint?"

"Me," Greece said, rolling his eyes, knowing that that would get the point across better. "What would you do if you heard a gunshot, and then nothing?"

A furious look passed through Turkey's eyes, "Come and make sure that I was imagining it, duh. Or . . ." He shifted his hand through his short hair, "I'd at least have to come see for myself if I believed it. I wouldn't believe it unless I saw you dead with my own eyes."

"Exactly," Heracles deadpanned, "so where do you think Japan is right now?"

"Trying to get here as fast as he can I suspect," Turkey smirked. "So I guess . . . Um . . . We should leave?" He flinched slightly at Greece's glare, "And go . . . Look for him! Yeah, sounds good."

Greece snorted and turned back to America, who looked on the verge of passing out from either worry about the Asian nation, or stress from the events only a few minutes ago. "Don't worry, America. Turkey and I'll have someone check his house and the area surrounding."

"Don't we also have to guard the place tonight?" Turkey chimed in unhelpfully.

"And then we'll be by again to stand watch outside," Greece added. "But I assure you, Japan will be fine. He's strong, America. And if he really wants to run he as fast as he can, you can be sure that he'll make it." He stood up, turning to pick up a at perched on the back of Alfred's sofa, something the blond had not noticed before, "But, America . . ." He started, narrowing is eyes, "If he does show up here, please remember that we are still on the very brink of war. Being near you could cost him his life."

Alfred nodded, watching the pair leave and close the door behind them in a daze. He wasn't sure what to do. Half of him wanted to run out there and look for Kiku, scold him for trying to come and make sure he was safe in his own home again. The other part of him wanted to stay put and let Greece and Turkey handle things, a wave of exhaustion drifting over him. It was better if he and Kiku didn't meet at all at this point in time. It was too dangerous.

America raised blue eyes to the window, noticing vaguely that the sun was starting to set. It worried him more than he liked to admit, the idea of Kiku running around in the dark trying to get here. Plus, neither Greece nor Turkey had made sure that Russia really had gone home. He could be waiting somewhere, waiting to kidnap and kill Kiku without remorse. The blond could almost see the blood, and he knew that such an idea wouldn't hesitate to cross Ivan's mind for an instant.

He stood, legs shaking slightly as he did, a hand finding the wound on the back of his head which still oozed blood. But he ignored it. He had to get out there and look for Kiku, he'd never be able to forgive himself if the other nation died because he'd hesitated to search for him.

The blonde stepped out onto his front lawn, locking the door behind him and squinting his eyes at the setting sun. He couldn't decide which direction to start in and he cursed under his breath for not asking Greece where he and Turkey would be looking. He lifted up a hand lazily, pointing in one direction down the road, and then the other. "Eenie, meanie, minie . . ." He'd squeezed his eyes shut in the effort of randomly deciding a direction, and it was only after he heard the crunch of grass and dirt underfoot that he realized that someone was approaching him.

America huffed in surprise as someone suddenly slammed against him, making him stumble backwards slightly from the impact. He blinked as shaky arms twisted around his waist, holding him so tight it was difficult for him to regain his breath again. Looking down his eyes came in contact with smooth dark hair of the head buried against his chest, soft, almost inaudible, relieved sobs emitting from the trembling figure. "K-Kiku! You're all right!"

Japan pressed closer to the blond, trying to make sure that this wasn't a figment of his imagination, "_I'm _all right?" He said sarcastically into the folds of America's shirt, "_I'm_ all right?! You . . . You baka! Teme! Baka, baka, baka!" He released the other nation so that he could punch him in the stomach, "Do you know how worried I was?! I thought . . ." He stopped, hands covering his face as he repressed another sob, falling to his knees in the grass, "I thought . . . I thought you . . ."

Alfred knelt down beside him, pulling him close, "Hey, shh . . . I know. I know what you must have heard." He laughed slightly, which made Japan hiccup, "But, I thought the same thing about you, actually. I knew that if you heard that, you'd come over to my place. I was scared Russia would find you before you got here. I was about to go look for you."

"Baka," Kiku whispered, burying his face against America's chest again, "That would have just gotten you killed."

"Heroes never die!" America exclaimed, pretending to be offended.

Kiku's grip impossibly tightened on him, "Kami . . . What am I supposed to do with an idiot like you?" he muttered.

America raised an eyebrow, drawing back slightly so that he could look the other man in the eye, "I . . . Idiots - not that I'm saying I am one - well . . . Idiots are good for . . ." The blond pulled nervously at his shirt collar, "Well, kisses are a good start . . ."

Japan blushed, "W-what?"

Alfred looked away, "N-never mind, wasn't anything important. Forget I said it." Blue eyes widened as hesitant hands caught the side of his face, turning his gaze back again just as Kiku leaned up, lips brushing softly against his.

"Kisses are okay," he whispered against the taller nation's mouth, "even for idiots."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

*puts hand to ear to listen for the cheering* are you pleased with that? Happy even just a little? Because the next chapter promises epicness times one million of that. Actually, I'm going to leave you hanging on that for a bit so I can jump over into a side story really fast. :] I can picture your "NOOOO!" Faces right now, but it must be done. I've been givins side stories to all the characters who appeared and had great importance but little face time. Russia, China, Korea, and Canada. So now, with the hints in this chapter, guess who get's their coverage next. GREECE-TAN! :D it'll take place before, during, and after above stuff. Not too long tho. I'll try to get it out this week and then the next real chapter Monday of next week. Gomen if that pisses you off. But right now my background on my internet-less laptop of death is of Turkey and a little Greece-tan. I can't resist. Does Turkey have a human name? *goes to check* Oh, and I listened to Russia's character song for this chapter. The scary one cause I don't know the English names of them yet. Ah, Ivan, why so scary? U sound like a serial killer. D:

Anywho, this chapter ends the Cuban Missile Crisis panic stuff. And next real chapter you shall FINALLY be rewarded dually for you perseverance through this thing. Can you spell lovely lemony smut? Of course you can. Lolz.

Review or you shall not get America/Japan smut. NOWS!


	23. Chapter 23

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Side Story: What We Die For**

Greece walked down the street with his hands in his pockets, his brown coat slung over his shoulders. America's house was just barely behind them now but he made sure to keep in his range of vision as they left. He could feel the handgun Turkey had been carrying previously shoved deep inside his pants pocket, emptied of its bullets which lay in the opposite pocket. Better safe than sorry after all. But it still unnerved him, the cold metal against the tips of his fingers as he touched the item. It had been something similar that had mortally wounded Japan not too many years ago, and Russia had nearly killed America with an identical item only moments ago. To say it unnerved him was an under exaggeration in the highest sense of the term. With something as small, and as _simple_ as this, an entire nation could be destroyed almost instantaneously.

He shivered, withdrawing his hand from his pocket instinctively, reaching up instead to grab onto the long green trench coat ahead of him. His fingers clenched into the fabric and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself.

Turkey nearly jumped out of his skin as Greece grabbed the back of his coat. He was about to open his mouth with a jeer of "now who's clingy," or something else along those lines when he noticed it. Greece's hand trembled against his back, hand tightening more and more into the dark green cloth. He could hear the other nation's slow, deliberate, controlled breaths. The breathing of someone who was trying their best to calm down. _Panic attack_, Sadiq thought briefly. He'd seen it happen to the other nation before, and there was never really anything he could do to prevent or stop it.

Heracles reached up to tangle his other hand into Turkey's coat as well, taking a step forward to press his head against the other man's back. Fear of anything for a nation was rare, but fear of death was another thing entirely. The death of a country also meant the death of the people, the culture, the history, _everything_. And Greece was one of the few who'd been around long enough to see more than one once great country fall right before his eyes. Rome, Germania, Holy Roman Empire, Ancient Egypt, and his own mother, just to list a handful. And more than anything, today's events only reminded him of how much had already been lost. Worst of all, what had nearly been lost in more recent times.

Turkey stood still as Greece leaned against him more and more. He felt that it was the least he could do in the situation, act as the stabilizer, nothing else. The younger country's arms shifted to wrap around his stomach in a silent effort to remain standing on shaking legs when Turkey spoke up. "Do you want to sit?" he asked quietly, motioning towards a nearby bench. But Heracles shook his head against Sadiq's back, hands trembling against his stomach. The older man turned his eyes to the sky and the slowly setting sun, reaching down to touch Greece's hands briefly, a reassuring motion.

Greece shivered again, splaying his fingers and tightening his grip, closing his eyes once more. "Sorry," he whispered almost inaudibly.

"Its fine," Turkey replied instantly. He hesitated a moment, recalling how many times Heracles had snapped at him for asking, but it always managed to bring the other nation back to his senses, so why not. "What are you thinking about?"

Heracles kept his eyes closed tight, but he tilted his head to the side a bit so that his voice wouldn't be muffled by Turkey's coat. "About . . . Disappearing," he murmured, "It's become so much easier now. One moment and it could all be over, like that. For everyone." He pressed his face against the back of the other man's coat again, "As it was, too many practically vanished overnight. I don't . . . I don't want it to be like that again . . ."

Turkey lowered his hands to cover Greece's again, "That was hundreds, thousands of years ago, Heracles. It's not like that anymore. Hell, if that was still the case, Prussia-"

"Prussia's an exception to the normal," Greece interrupted. "He's too stubborn to die. Him and his brother both. They're young and stupid like that."

"You're suggesting that age has something to do with it?" Turkey asked, slipping off his mask as he glanced over his shoulder at the other. The mask was something that Greece had never liked about him, so whenever they were alone, he made sure to remove it. It was almost a habit now.

"Don't pretend that it doesn't," Greece whispered. "After all, it wasn't too long ago that you . . ." Sadiq remained silent as Heracles stopped mid sentence, squeezing the hand against his stomach. "Ottoman Empire," the younger man murmured, using the older term for his companion. "Just like my mother, you almost . . ." He couldn't finish his thought, as if would somehow jinx the other nation.

"Your mother," Turkey paused as he felt Greece flinch against him, "She was tired, Heracles. Just like Rome and Germania were tired not too long after. All of them knew that their children would live on, carry on loving their people and remember their culture long after. They didn't mind dying as long as something was left behind." He smiled a bit, "You were such a stubborn little kid though, you know? The day your mother died, you wouldn't leave Athens no matter how much I begged you to come with me as the city crumbled around us. I had to carry you away, crying and screaming. You were so small, and it broke my heart to tear you away from there, from your mother. It hurt worse when Roman Empire claimed you as his own by right. But Heracles . . . She, your mother . . . She wanted to die. Greece and Rome, they both lived through so much war. The only living nations who've ever experienced even a portion of what they went through would probably be China and I. You're a close third though, Heracles," he added with a light laugh. "But believe me; I've seen worse than what almost happened today. And I . . ." He gripped Greece's hand tighter, "I like . . . Being here. Your mother, Rome, Germania, they were all so tired of this world. But I know that there's always so much more to see. That's why I'm still here. I think that as long as you have something left to live for, as nations, we can never truly die."

There was silence at this before a muffled, "I wanna sit down now," as Heracles released him, walking the few steps it took to reach the bench. He sat down heavily, slouching with his arms resting on his knees. He waited until Turkey sat down beside him before he spoke again, "That's a silly idea you know. Living for something else besides yourself?"

Turkey smiled slowly, reaching over to ruffle the other's hair, "No it's not. How could I die if I still have you to look after, huh?"

"I don't need looking after," Heracles huffed, turning his gaze away but allowing the hand to remain tangled in his hair. "I'm not the little kid you took care of anymore."

"You'll always be my little Heracles to me," Sadiq laughed, ruffling his hair harder as a punishment.

Greece sighed and closed his eyes in an effort to ignore the other, but at the same time, thinking on the other nation's words. He remembered the day Turkey had shielded him as Athens fell around them, and he'd hated him for it. He hated him for saving his life when he felt that he should have died. There was little point in being saved only to be enslaved by the Roman Empire for more years than they could count as they stole his gods and his culture to claim as their own. He'd blamed Sadiq for that, for not allowing him to die with his mother, for unknowingly granting him eternal life that he'd never had a desire for.

But he remembered with even more clarity that he'd cried much harder the day that Turkey had taken him back from Rome. He had sobbed and bawled and clung to Sadiq like a lifeline. Not out of fear, but out of relief. Because he'd known that those arms were safe, no matter how many years would pass.

"You were there when I wanted to die," Greece whispered. "And you were there when I realized that I wanted to live as well," he opened his eyes, casting the other nation a glance, "Thank you . . ."

Turkey grinned, lowering his arm so that it rested on Heracles' shoulders, "Anytime." He frowned, "But now that I think about it, weren't we supposed to be looking for Nihon?"

"He'll be fine," Greece drawled lazily, eyelids flickering open and closed as he fought the sudden urge to sleep right then and there. It had been a long day after all. "To him, America is the same. He was there when he wanted to die, and he stayed until the moment he realized how much he wanted to live. Nothing can harm him as long as he's realized that."

Sadiq raised an eyebrow as Greece's head dropped to his lap, a soft snore escaping the other country's lips. "You're something else, you know that?" He laughed, running a broad hand through Heracles's dark curls, "You say something profound, and then just drop off into a deep sleep like nothing happened." He smiled, "Idiot . . ."

"Not an idiot," Greece mumbled, cracking one eye open. Turkey only laughed harder.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Please don't kill me. O_O America/Japan super Moe next chapter, promise. But I had to write this, it was too cute. Specially because once again I'm focusing on a character who's deceased in SLK. Oh, how I cried when I thought of how Turkey probably absolutely fell apart when Greece went missing. Heartbreaking.

Anywho, I plan to have Turkey/Greece be a focus of one of my fics after LDoH. I want to go over their entire epic history. :D so, as repayment for torturing you with waiting for the America/Japan smut and fluffs, here's the previews for what my next bunch of Hetalia Multi Chapters will be about.

Nation - Sealand knew he wouldn't last forever, not being a real country and all that. He just didn't know how much it would hurt to disappear. With only one year left, he tries to fulfill all of his last wishes, never telling anyone what's really happening. Too bad one of those wishes is a bit harder to go through with than he thought it would be. Good thing someone in similar circumstances has good advice. No one knows what happens when a nation disappears. Sealand/Latvia (Peter/Raivis), Russia/Prussia (Ivan/Gilbert). Implied France/England (Francis/Arthur), Denmark/Norway, Sweden/Finland (Bernwald/Tino), America/Japan (Alfred/Kiku), Germany/Italy (Ludwig/Feliciano). Rated M.

Catch Your Breath - America falls deathly ill and no one seems to care. The rest of the world is slowly catching his cold and they pay little heed to the ailing world power. No one that is except for the person America least expected to see. Can Kiku find it in himself to forgive events long past and take care of the man he's supposed to call friend? America/Japan (Alfred/Kiku). Implied France/England (Francis/Arthur), Germany/Italy (Ludwig/Feliciano), Russia/Prussia (Ivan/Gilbert). Rated M.

Mercy- The story of Greece. From the day of his birth to the present and all the events he lived through in between. He knows very well who it was that saved his life the day Rome took over his mother's land, but that doesn't mean he likes the man who did it. There's a difference between being saved and wanting to be saved. Turkey/Greece (Sadiq/Heracles). Suggested Rome/Germania. Rated M.


	24. Chapter 24

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Body and Soul**

the chapter seems to have problems showing up for you guys. weird.

America's eyes were wide with shock as Japan pulled away, the other's questioning gaze meeting his startled one. "I-I didn't think you'd actually . . ." The blond stuttered, swallowing hard.

Kiku tilted his head to the side with an amused look, "You always have underestimated me."

Alfred blinked slowly, "Th-that's not true. I think very highly of you, Kiku." His hands shifted across Japan's back, straying against the edges of the embroidered number fifty. "You're wearing the jacket," he said quietly. He hadn't noticed it before.

"H-hai," Japan whispered, beginning to look slightly embarrassed. He rested his head against America's shoulder, mostly so that the other couldn't see his expression. Reality was slowly begging to wash over him, and he scolded himself mentally. He'd kissed America. Oh Kami, he just knew that he'd messed things up by doing that. Hesitantly, he moved his hands from America's back up towards his neck, but stopped, alarmed, when he felt sticky warm liquid trickle over the tips of his fingers. He jumped back, "A-America-san! You're hurt!"

The blonde's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "I am? Oh . . . Yeah, where Russia hit me with the gun." He gingerly touched the back of his head and winced, "It's not too bad, I think."

Japan looked furious however, "You were going to go out and look for me in that state!? Get back inside the house!" He stood up, grabbing Alfred's wrist and dragging him to the door, "Come on, I'll take a look at it once we have some light. Kami, you're such an idiot. Walking around like that with _another_ head injury would have gotten you killed for sure."

America rolled his eyes as he let Kiku into the house, "I thought I just said a second ago that heroes never die." He blinked, "And what do you mean, _another head injury_?"

The older nation smirked as he grabbed a first aid kit from where he knew it was stored underneath the kitchen sink, "Oh, don't you remember? You hit your head when you crashed that motorcycle."

"When _we_ crashed the motorcycle," America corrected haughtily, allowing Kiku to push him into the bedroom and onto the bed, the other man kneeling down on the blankets beside him, rummaging through the first-aid kit.

"No, I meant exactly what I said. As I recall, you were driving the thing, not me. So thus, you crashed it. End of story." He held up a cotton ball, dipping it in rubbing alcohol, "Okay, turn your back to me."

"Hero's don't need help treating their wounds," Alfred snorted, wincing as Kiku merely shuffled around to the other side himself and dabbed at the cut with the cotton ball.

Japan was starting to get worried when he'd used up nearly the whole bag of cotton balls and the bleeding still continued, but he didn't say anything out loud. He pressed a gauze bandage to the other nation's head and held it there, leaning on Alfred' shoulder's just slightly. "It's worse than you thought," he murmured to the blond, "He clocked you pretty hard, didn't he."

"It'll heal up in no time," America said almost instantly, trying to reassure the other. He bit his lip as Kiku removed the gauze, taking out a roll of bandages and wrapping it around his head. But the older didn't speak again, too absorbed in his work to talk. Alfred fidgeted, feeling a slightly uncomfortable air settle between them as Kiku drew away, sitting down to look over his handiwork. "Kiku," he started, "I . . ." He stopped as he noticed the jacket on the other's shoulders again, zipped all the way up to the collar though it wasn't that cold inside the house. His eyes narrowed, "Kiku, take off the jacket."

Before Japan could protest, Alfred and turned and unzipped it, tossing it aside. The blonde's eyes widened briefly before shrinking down into angry slits. He grabbed the gauze and the bandages from the Asian nation, fingers straying over the thin gash on Japan's throat, "This was done by a sword," he muttered. "Kiku, why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

"Your safety was more important to me," Japan whispered, looking away.

America's eyes flicked to the other's shoulder, noticing the two stains of blood that had begun to seep through his yukata. Kiku gasped as the blond pulled his clothes down past the shoulder, pressing the gauze to it. "I worry about you too, Kiku," he muttered, clearly annoyed at the other for not saying that he was injured. He wrapped a thin layer of bandages around his shoulder, turning back to the cut on his neck. Alfred examined it for a moment, dabbing away a layer of dried blood with the gauze before wrapping that up as well. After a moment, he sat back on his haunches, closing his eyes to regain some level of calm. "We're both pretty stupid, aren't we," he said finally, smiling again.

Kiku touched the edge of the bandage on his neck, "I suppose so." He smiled too, "But I think you and Italy-chan could tie for idiot of the year award."

"I will pretend that was a compliment, since awards, no matter what they're for, are awesome," America retorted, grinning from ear to ear. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, knowing what he had to say next, but not wanting to, "Speaking of Italy, I had better call him and Ludwig."

Japan blinked, "Why?"  
Alfred smiled sadly, "Even if I managed to pull through this little fight, the Iron Curtain is still there, Kiku. For your own safety, you're going to have to remain neutral for a bit longer."

The reply was immediate, "I won't."

America opened his mouth in surprise, "What? Kiku, you don't have an army, your economy and government is still being rebuilt. I-"

"I know all that," Kiku stated, "And I know that you don't want me to get hurt. But I can decide some things for myself, America-san. I'll remain neutral for a little while longer, that I will concede to. But I'm not going to leave yet."

"Kiku!"

Japan sat up a bit more, leaning forward so that he was a hair's breadth from America's lips, "I want to stay, America-san. Just for tonight, please. I can't bear it any longer."

"Bear what?" the blond whispered, eyelids fluttering closed from the feeling of Japan's breath against his mouth. He closed the distance between them, being the one to take the initiative this time, kissing the other briefly, hesitantly.

"Being apart from you," Kiku murmured as Alfred pulled away, blushing slightly. He turned his gaze away, "You're like a curse. After I left . . . I realized that I couldn't get you out of my head. I was so worried about you, all the time. It hurts, America-san. Not being near you makes me feel sick, like my heart is just going to break into a million pieces if I can't hear your voice." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, "And I . . . I don't know why . . ."

America opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words, "Kiku, I . . ."

"I know that it's messed up," Japan went on, wiping away the tears that had started to fall from his cheeks, trying to hide them though he knew that America could see them. He jumped slightly as the blond reached over to catch some of the tears on his fingers, kissing Kiku again, softly, comfortingly, eyes showing that he didn't understand what the other was trying to say. "After everything I did to you, after everything you did to me in return. It shouldn't be like this!" He sobbed, trying to turn away, America holding him steady, "I'm not . . . I'm not supposed to love you like I do. It doesn't make any sense." Kiku raised a hand to his mouth, eyes wide as he realized what he'd said.

Alfred pulled away, startled, "You . . . You what?"

"Nothing, I didn't say anything," Kiku muttered quickly, looking away. But Alfred caught his uninjured shoulder and forced him to meet his eyes. Japan stared at him, taking in the hopeful gaze before whispering, "I said . . . That I think I'm in love with you, America-san."

The blond let out the breath he'd been holding, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on Kiku's shoulder. When he opened his eyes again, the other nation looked flustered, face red and staring at the mattress as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. America smiled, catching Japan's chin, "Kiku," he whispered, lips brushing against the others, "How would I say that in your language. It's . . . Aishiteru, isn't it?" He laughed as Japan's eyes widened, "Aishiteru, Kiku. For longer than you know."

Japan took a breath as if to reply, but in the end merely remained silent, disbelief clear in his eyes. America chuckled, leaning down to kiss him again, flicking out his tongue to let it gently roam over the crease between the other's lips. Kiku opened his mouth on instinct, allowing America's tongue to press inside, exploring the internal edges of his mouth slowly. Japan teased the other's tongue after an uncertain moment, engaging a gentle war for dominance. But the word _war_ made him flinch as he thought that, and he pulled away slightly, Pushing America away as his thoughts ran wild.

What if, years from now, he would be forced to turn on Alfred again? To break the bonds that were only just now starting to reform between them. And he knew that if such a war ever happened, they'd both die. If they continued on like this, wouldn't they only end up being left with more heartbreak than before if they were forced to fight again? His hands shook against Alfred's shoulders, the other man staring at him in concern. That was the last thing he wanted, to hurt the other nation again. He'd give anything to keep that from happening, even risk . . .

"_Would you risk the lives of your people to protect me? Defy your boss if he forbade you to ever see me again?"_

Oh . . . Japan blinked in realization. What was that term again, the one that they used in the West to refer to the string of fate? "Soul mates . . ." He whispered in understanding. It had been something he never would have done for Greece. But for America . . . Hadn't he done that already? Wanting to catch that fleeting glimpse of him in the Korean War, and just today, defying China to merely try and speak to America, then running here when he knew that he was supposed to remain neutral.

America smiled as Kiku whispered the term, "Hmm . . . Is that what you were thinking about?" He leaned in to kiss him again, pushing his tongue inside, hands tangling into the other's dark hair, "That's what Greece told you, right? That guy knows too much."

Japan didn't reply, too preoccupied with the other's tongue in his mouth. He allowed himself to be pushed back onto the mattress, moaning as America pulled back, hands wandering over the top of his yukata. He lay still as the other nation pushed it down his shoulders before reaching up towards the other's button-up shirt, taking his time undoing them. Suddenly, America's hand stopped on Kiku's robes, grabbing the other's wrists and tugging them away from his shirt.

The blond sat up, legs on either side of the other nation's, breathing hard. His eyes clearly showed that Kiku had almost revealed something that he did not want seen. Japan sat up a bit, elbows behind him, supporting him as he reached for the collar of America's shirt again. "What are you hiding?" he whispered, worried that it was another wound he'd gotten that day, but he hadn't shown any signs of discomfort.

Alfred's hands tightened on the edges of his shirt, "It's nothing you need to see," he muttered, looking away. But when Kiku tugged insistently at his collar again, he obediently let his hands fall away, allowing the last few buttons to come undone.

Kiku slid the shirt off the other's shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, his eyes roamed over America's chest, stopping with shock at the puckered X-like scar over his heart. He raised a hand to it, watching as Alfred flinched back, not allowing him to touch it. "Who gave that to you? That's not a natural scar," he said quietly, worry clear in his gaze.

"I did," America whispered after a moment of silence.

The Asian nation stared at him, "You . . . What?"

"I gave myself that scar," the blond said slowly, "I carved it there, not long after I brought you here. I . . . Wanted it there. To remind myself of what I'd done to you. One cut for each bullet." He closed his eyes as Kiku reached out to touch it again, the blond refraining from stopping him this time.

"Punishing yourself does not make up for your sins," Japan whispered, ignoring the helpless look that crossed the other's face, "Forgiveness from those you've done wrong by is the only thing that can heal your own guilt. And that's something that's hard to come by." He raised dark eyes to see America look away, anguish clear on his features. "But, America-san . . . I forgave you a long time ago."

The blond opened his eyes in surprise, "Wh . . . What? I thought . . . You said-"

"The moment that you told me that making me your responsibility to care for was your own decision, part of me had already forgiven you," Japan smiled. He let his hand fall on America's cheek, running through the edges of his sandy-blond hair that fell there, "And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you too." He smirked, "But how I fell for an idiot like you is a mystery." He laughed as America pretended to look offended, slipping the other's glasses off and placing them on the bedside table. Lying back down, he stared up into the blonde's clear blue eyes, "You know . . . I've always loved your eyes, America-san. Since long before the war. They're the color of that clear and beautiful ocean you found me on."

America grinned, leaning down to take his lips again, shivering as Japan traced the scar on his chest. "I like yours too," he murmured against the other's neck, sucking on the skin for a moment before drawing back to admire the red mark that began to form. "I like your eyes as they are now. Not the eyes I saw during the war. But even then . . . I still . . . Even when you looked at me like that that day, I still loved you, Kiku. Even then."

Kiku sat up a bit again as Alfred's hands traveled lower down his yukata, watching as the other man pulled it off. He took note of the way America's eyes immediately sought out the scars, one on his chest, the other on his stomach. He bit his lip as the blonde's hands hesitantly touched them, one at a time, the wounds he'd placed there himself. "A-America-san . . ." He gasped as the other pressed on the one on his stomach, "I want to see too. That . . . That scar I gave you."

The blond nodded, rolling away so that he could tug off his pants, scootching back over so that Japan could take a look. Kiku's eyes found it instantly, the white, long healed scar on the other's hip, and he reached over to touch it, tracing the edges in fascination. "I hardly remember that day, you know," he murmured. "Only that I'd done that to you, and that at the time, I wasn't ashamed of such a low tactic."

"There's no need to remember it," America said softly, leaning over the eastern nation again, kissing him softly. He let his fingers skim lower than before, pausing hesitantly at the edge of the other man's undergarments.

Kiku's hands clenched into the blankets of the bed, nodding his head once before he closed his eyes in embarrassment. He gasped as Alfred ducked his head down, experimentally licking the head of the other's arousal, "N-no, America! Not there!"

"You don't like it?" America teased, running his tongue along the other's length. He didn't wait for Kiku to reply, taking him whole into his mouth.

Japan moaned and closed his eyes, fists tightening on the blankets. He gasped as America began to suck, biting his lip to hold back a cry. "A-America . . . Stop . . ."

Alfred immediately pulled away, eyebrow raised, "I wasn't hurting you, was I?"

"N-no," Japan assured quickly, sitting up a bit, "I just . . . I wanted to . . ." He swallowed, unsure of how he wanted to say what he was thinking. After a moment's pause he sat up all the way, one hand on the blonde's chest, the other trailing down to the edge of his boxers. He smiled as he slid them off, watching the shocked look that America gave him at his sudden boldness. "I wanted to try, America-san," he murmured, kissing the tip, causing the other to shudder involuntarily. He dipped his head down, taking as much into his mouth as he could, considering America's size. But he didn't let that discourage him, rolling his tongue over the length inside his mouth, enjoying the unfamiliar taste. He looked up as the blond moved to reach into a bedside drawer, pulling something out and reading the label to distract himself. Kiku paused, drawing back to lick up the precum that dribbled down the head before sitting up to lean over and take a look at the bottle America held. "That should work all right," he said after reading the ingredients list.

Alfred blushed, "This isn't something I usually have in the house, just so you know," he muttered. "France gave it to me a few years ago as a joke. England got on his case for it too," he laughed at the memory, turning his gaze back to Japan again, "But I . . ."

Japan took the bottle, unscrewing the cap and pouring some over his fingers, "I'll do it," he murmured, kissing the other as he stretched a hand behind his own back, inserting coated fingers into his entrance.

"Ah, no . . . Doesn't that hurt?" America asked, looking concerned as Kiku blushed and winced, arching his back.

The Asian nation shook his head, "Don't worry. I've been through worse," he stopped as he realized what he'd said, withdrawing his hand to sit up and wrap his arms around the blonde's waist, pressing his face against America's chest. "Sorry, that's not what I meant," he whispered.

"I know," America murmured into his ear, taking the lubricant from him. He dripped some over his own fingers and set the bottle aside, using his other hand to pull Japan closer, "Here, let me do it," he said quietly.

Kiku gasped as Alfred's fingers entered him, pressing inside and stretching him. He chewed on his lip and buried his face against the blonde's shoulder. It was a strikingly different feeling than doing it yourself, and he moaned as America crooked his fingers, managing to brush against that special spot that sent sparks through his body. America's shoulder's tensed in realization of what he'd done, and he immediately pressed the place again, making a scissoring motion with his two fingers. Japan whimpered, fingers clenching into the taller nation's back, "More," he whispered hoarsely, squirming so that the fingers touched that place again.

America inserted a third finger, keeping one eye on Kiku's reactions as he continued with his motions. Kiku blushed and moaned, arching his back at every movement, it was almost too overwhelming for Alfred to watch. The other nation's hot, panting breath against his shoulder made him shiver in anticipation, and he pressed that spot again, making Kiku cry out.

"More," Japan whispered again, "it's not enough."

The blond withdrew his hand, noticing the way Kiku whimpered at the loss before pushing the other down onto the mattress. "Tell me what you want," he said quietly, leaning down to suck on the mark he'd left earlier, wanting it to linger, to leave proof that Kiku was _his_.

"You," Kiku said immediately, looping his arms around Alfred's shoulders and raising his hips. "I need you . . . Inside . . ." He dug his nails into the other's back as he felt something other than fingers press at his entrance, his whole body shuddering with eagerness.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you at all," America murmured, lifting up one of the smaller nation's legs onto his shoulder, his other hand falling to trail through the edges of Kiku's hair.

Japan drew in a sharp, slightly pained breath as the blond pushed slowly inside. He hissed in frustration as Alfred stopped at once, concern in those eyes that Kiku had been in love with for so long. The dark haired man tightened his arms around the other nation's shoulders, tilting his head to whisper into his ear, "I'm fine. Keep going, it's all right, I promise." He arched his back as America complied, slowly pressing in until he was all the way inside.

America groaned, folding over the other nation, eyelids flickering closed, "S'tight . . ." He whispered, pressing his face against the crook of Japan's neck. He took in a shaky breath, waiting for Japan to adjust to his size. "Hey, Kiku?"

"Hmm . . ." Kiku murmured against his shoulder, trying to even out his breathing.

"Have you ever just suddenly _known_ that you fit together perfectly with someone, and that no one else will ever be able to be a better match to your body and soul than that person?"

"No . . ."

"Well neither have I!" America laughed, "But I feel it right now . . . Is that okay?"

Japan smiled against the other's shoulder, "Baka . . ." He turned his head slightly so that he could kiss the blond, "I feel it too. Now, move, before I go insane."

Alfred laughed again, fingers of one hand searching out the scar on Kiku's lower stomach as he drew out, his other hand supporting the other nation's back as he pressed down on the scar, thrusting back inside. Just as he'd thought, Japan arched his back, crying out as the pain of the old wound and the pleasure of the blonde inside of him coupled together. "Masochist," America teased, removing his hand from the scar to pound into him again.

"Like you're not . . . Ah!" Japan untangled one hand from Alfred's shoulders to reach down towards the other nation's waist, pressing down on the scar that he had created. He smirked as the blonde hissed in surprise, grinding into him with renewed force. He felt a trickle of blood against his fingers where he was digging them into America's back. But he didn't say anything about it, the other seeming to either ignore it or was completely oblivious to it. Kiku screamed as that extraordinary place was hit dead on, arching up so much that America had to push him back down.

The blond shifted slightly as he drove back inside, managing to connect with that spot again, holding Kiku down as he cried out. He tilted the other nation's face towards him, kissing him as Japan came harshly against his stomach. America hummed to himself, thrusting inside again before following suit.

Kiku gasped and moaned at the feeling of the other man's hot seed spilling into him, and he dug his nails into America's shoulders again. He fell back onto the mattress as the blond pulled out, breath coming in short, strained gasps. Alfred ran a hand through his hair as he sat up, reaching down with his other hand to twirl a stray lock of Japan's darker hair. Kiku gazed at him bleary eyed, trying to come down from the clouds of orgasm with little luck. So instead, he caught the hand trailing through his hair, twining their fingers together lazily, using it to pull himself up into a sitting position.

Alfred watched as Kiku rolled over onto his stomach, raising his hips into the air and letting go of his hand. "Let's do it this way now," the Asian nation said, examining the look of disbelief on the blonde's face.

America leaned over him, twining their fingers together from behind, aroused again almost instantly. "Are you sure? You're not too tired?"

Japan pushed encouragingly back against him, "Hai. I want to be with you for as long as possible, America." He bit his lip as the blond slid inside, the entrance made easier from the cum still in him.

"You didn't add a _san_ on there this time," America grunted, pulling out to push back in at the speed and force that he'd already realized Japan preferred. He smirked as the smaller nation lowered his head onto the mattress, suppressing a sharp cry.

Kiku clenched his fingers into the blankets, using them to keep himself steady as America pounded into him again. He gasped and screamed as the blond hit that spot once more, sending sparks of pure ecstasy through his system. Shifting his knees, he raised his hips up more to meet Alfred's thrusts, loosening his hold on the blankets so that their fingers slid together, fitting as perfectly as their bodies. "Ah! Alfred-ah!" He gasped as the place was hit again.

The larger nation opened his eyes in surprise at the use of his human name, "Call my name again," he urged, grinding in against the place that made Kiku whimper and moan.

"A-Alfred!" Kiku screamed as America untangled one of his hands from the older nation's, reaching to stroke Japan's length in time with his thrusts. He arched his back again with a cry as he came into the other's hand.

America hissed in slight surprise as Kiku clenched around him, milking him of his seed as he came. The blond pressed his face between the other's shoulders, breathing hard as he pulled out again. Sitting up, he examined the seed on his hand with glazed eyes before lapping it up experimentally.

The Asian nation sat up on his elbows in surprise, "Ah, don't do that, that's-"

The blond smiled, leaning over to kiss him, transferring some of it into Kiku's mouth. "Shh, it's not that bad. I like how you taste."

Japan blushed profusely, but he didn't hesitate to reach up to lick a few stray drops from the corners of the other's mouth, "That's still dirty," he muttered in embarrassment.

"Dirty like sexy, or dirty like actual dirt?" America asked, catching his mouth against his own, rolling his tongue over closed lips until he gained entrance.

"Both," Kiku teased, spreading his fingers over taut muscles on the blonde's chest. He winced slightly as he turned to swing his legs off the bed, his back giving him trouble. He sat there for a moment, trying to decide what he wanted to do. "America-san, carry me to the bathtub?"  
"The . . . Bathtub?" America echoed, perplexed, "Why?"

"Well," Japan smiled, "I obviously want to try doing it in the bathtub. So what do you think?"

Alfred grinned, "Sounds interesting," he laughed, standing up to scoop Kiku up into his arms. He stepped away from the bed, watching the other nation's content look as he leaned against his shoulder, eyes closed. "Hey, doesn't this remind you of before? When you were too stubborn to let me carry you to the bathroom?"  
"Ugh," Japan made a face, "Don't remind me. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment back then."

"How 'bout now?" America asked, pushing open the bathroom door with his shoulder.

"Can someone actually die of too much sex?" Japan asked, stretching his arms and putting them around Alfred's neck.

"Umm . . . I don't know . . ." America started, raising an eyebrow in contemplation as he set Japan down in the tub, turning to flick on the hot water. "You might have to ask France. He's the expert on that stuff. And no doubt he's actually tried to prove that it was impossible. So because France is still alive, I'm going with no?"

"Well, that's okay then," Japan sighed as the hot water began to fill the tub, America's hand running soothingly through his hair once again. "I'll just say I might die from pure bliss then."

"How about no dying, period," America laughed.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

When Alfred awoke the next morning he felt strangely rested. Probably because it wasn't actually morning any longer, more like . . . He rolled over onto his stomach, staring at the clock on his bedside table. Three in the afternoon. He wasn't too surprised, really, with how late they'd been up. Briefly, he wondered whether he should bother wiping down some of those surfaces in his house before he used them again, but decided it would be much more fun not to and then tell Arthur about it after his father-figure touched one of said areas.

He rolled over again, arm draping over the still sleeping Japan's shoulders. His eyes roamed over bare skin and light kiss marks here and there with a strained smile. America knew what would have to happen once Kiku woke up, and it hurt to even think about. He'd meant what he said last night about Kiku remaining neutral for his safety, and he fully planned to make sure that happened.

At that moment, Japan blinked open sleepy dark eyes and stretched his arms out in front of him, rolling onto his stomach with a groan. "Gaahh . . . What time is it?" He muttered, burying his face into the pillow.

"Three," America smiled, kissing his forehead.

"In the _morning?!_" Japan groaned into the pillow.

"In the afternoon," the blond corrected with a grin. "We didn't even go to bed until four, Kiku."

"Technically, we went to bed at two," Japan muttered.

"Being in bed, and actually using said bed for sleeping are two entirely different matters," Alfred smiled.

"Ah, then that's why I don't feel rested," Kiku said sarcastically. He rolled over onto his side again, curling into the crook of America's arm. His eyes clouded a bit and he hid his face against the other nation's chest. "I know . . ." He whispered quietly, "I know that I can't stay, no matter how much I want to." He twisted an arm around America's waist, "But I . . ."

"The war won't last forever," America murmured into his ear, rubbing small, comforting circles between his shoulder blades. "And after that, we can spend every day together."

Japan didn't say anything for a moment, lost in thought, "And . . . What if the war goes on for a hundred more years, two hundred even?"  
"Then I will look out my window that faces your house every night and imagine that I could almost reach out and touch you," the blond whispered in reply. He laughed at the skeptical look Japan gave him at the statement, "What did you want me to say? _'I will never cheat on you, my one true love'_?" He frowned as Kiku simply glared at him, "Oh, Kiku . . . After everything we had to go through to get this far, you really think I'd go to someone else?"

"No," Kiku muttered after another awkward moment of silence. He rolled over until he rested on top of the other, lips brushing against his, "So . . . End this war as quickly as possible, or I'll die of loneliness." He skimmed his fingers across the blonde's eyelids, closing them gently before kissing him again, a much longer, more desperate kiss. "Don't open your eyes, America-kun. Don't open them until I tell you to, all right?" He waited until Alfred had nodded before he spoke again, pressing their lips together once more, lingering for a moment longer, "Alfred . . . Aishiteru," he whispered.

Alfred lay with his eyes closed as Japan's weight disappeared, and he kept silent as he heard the other rustling around the room. He was just starting to doze off when he remembered that Japan had said that he'd tell him when to open his eyes. Jumping out of bed, he stared around the room, his heart sinking when he saw that Kiku was not in sight. He wandered out of the room, scanning all the rooms in the house before he went outside, nearly squashing a flower that lay innocently on his doorstep.

It was a single, newly bloomed chrysanthemum. America closed his eyes again as he knelt down to pick it up, not wanting to at it. Kiku had left while his eyes had been closed so that there wouldn't be any long, drawn out goodbyes. But that didn't mean that this was any less painful.

They wouldn't meet again until the Berlin Wall fell nearly thirty years later.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Goodness, I wrote a lot of sex. D: the whole chapter was sex, practically. I hope u like it. It was a pain to write so I could get it out today. I said sometime between Friday and Monday, and it took me three days to finish the update on One Last Fairytale, so I wrote this in one day. *le sigh*

Anywho, we still have a bit more to cover, no worries. I'm excited to write their reunion thirty years in the future from this chapter. It'll be way cute. But, one, two chapters in between then though. :D

Review, or Ivan will deliver divine punishment. On your souls. Also review if you want me to reveal some of the many spectacular places they did it to a mortified Arthur next chapter.


	25. Chapter 25

Oh. My. Fucking. God. I HATE THIS WEBSITE! D:

Chapter full of smut is up, but no one is getting the notification, including myself (because I'm a looser and subscribed to myself, that is why I know this. My betta didn't get the email either, so something's wrong.) I'm posting this note to be removed later so that you can all skip on back to chapter 24 and read that lemon. Hopefully this one goes through. :p


	26. Chapter 26

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Overcoming The Pain**

_It was like America couldn't get enough of Japan's body. The body he'd admired, the body he'd injured, the body he was ever so careful with even during the midst of their passion. Water sloshed over the edges of the tub from the flurry of tangled limbs. The blond moaned into Kiku's mouth as they engaged in in another endless battle of tongues, each reveling in the taste of the other. Kiku pressed closer, fingers clenching into America's hair, grinding encouragingly against him and making him gasp. They could no longer tell if their dizzying breathlessness was from the heat of the water, or the intensity of their actions._

_Japan seemed to regain a bit of clarity first, putting his hands on the rim of the tub and pushing himself up above the other, hovering over him balanced on his knees and his curled toes. Alfred grabbed the smaller nation's hips, tilting his head to catch one of Kiku's nipples in his mouth, biting and licking it to elicit a cry from the other. He trailed his tongue across bare skin, pausing to gently kiss the scar across his lover's chest that was nearly twenty years old before leaning up to kiss Kiku in a much harsher, more desperate way. It made his heart ache to think about how many years might pass before he saw these scars again, this body. He rested his forehead against Kiku's, wanting to burn those dark and trusting eyes into his mind and heart forever._

_Alfred snapped out of his trance as Kiku kissed him again. Reassuringly, carefully, comfortingly. The blond pulled back briefly, their hot breath mingling together, his hands tightening on Japan's hips. They kissed again, light and gentle, fluttering kisses. Kiku's knuckles whitened against the rim of the bath as America slowly lowered him down onto his hardened arousal. The blond twisted his head to murmur meaningless nothings into Japan's ear, enjoying the feeling of body in body, and the tight completeness that enveloped him even though this was their third coupling that night._

_America's vision was blurred by the steam and his lack of glasses, but he trained his gaze to Kiku's eyes. Their noses were brushing together, heartbeats and ragged breathing unintelligible from one another. Leaning in, he kissed away the silent tears that had pooled in the corners of Japan's eyes. He trailed his hands up the other nation's back, marveling at the knowledge that he would never grow tired of the depth of those eyes. The blond pulled out slightly and thrust back inside, listening to Kiku's whimpering moan that pleaded for more. Fingers intertwined and lips met as he repeated the movement, faster, harder. They were instantly lost in the way that they were unable to tell where one body ended and another began._

_Water spilled out onto the floor as Kiku arched his back, America hitting that special spot dead on. Sending sparks of pleasure throughout his entire body. He screamed as the blond pulled out again, pushing and grinding against the place, causing the other nation to see stars. His brain immediately whitewashed with ecstasy and he came in spurts in the warm water. He twisted his fingers into Alfred's hair as the other continued to press inside him, arousing him again in a matter of seconds._

_Words were meaningless when spoken. Softly whispered names and _I love yous _that in truth meant all the world to each. Their movements turned almost desperate, reflecting their need to feel each other's touch forevermore, but knowing that greater forces were only hours away from pulling them apart. In their minds it was not only a first night, but a last night and an eternal night all rolled into one._

_The blond groaned and thrust inside him again, Kiku biting at his shoulder to repress another cry as Alfred emptied hot seed into him, the smaller nation coming against his stomach, gasping for breath after his second orgasm in so little time._

"_Kiku," Alfred whispered almost inaudibly, "No matter what happens, I will _always_ love you." (trans to Jap) He turned to kiss the tears that had begun to trickle once more from Kiku's anguished, knowing eyes. "Itsumo," he murmured, hugging the other country close. "Itsumo, itsumo, itsumo . . ."_

America blinked open sleepy blue eyes reluctantly; still lost in the memory he'd dreamed of, his promise lingering on his lips. Though it had already been a handful of years since those words had been uttered. He rolled over onto his stomach with a repressed sigh, closing his eyes once more to block out the rest of the world. To any outsider, he might appear perfectly fine. But he knew better. It wasn't just a war or a bad economy that made a nation sick; it was its people too.

Losing a leader was an easy way to break a nation. Hell, Ivan was the best example of that. The lineage that had ruled him for years shot to death, children and all. America had been sick to his stomach for days after Kennedy had been assassinated, and he hadn't felt right since. His people were in turmoil, and the red scare was only half of it. He'd argued against his current leader, Johnson, had put the draft into effect for the newest war against communism he'd gotten himself into. His people didn't like it. In fact, they flat out hated it. He could hear the protests and riots and wails of mothers being told that their sons were dead in his ears day in and day out. It made him want to throw up.

And he'd be marching out with his troops the day after tomorrow. Johnson had protested of course, but Alfred had nearly lost it when he'd been forbade from going. To not be allowed to defend himself was an insult. He hated asking his people for their help at all.

He groaned and rolled over again, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. A quick shower, some clothes thrown on haphazardly, and a crappy cup of coffee later found Alfred face-down on the kitchen table. His cheek rested on the wood, his finger lazily tracing the lifelines of the tree it had been made of. He didn't get up when there was a knock on the door, nor when his door creaked open, two sets of heavy footsteps tramping inside.

The bickering and arguing he heard long before the door had even been knocked on told him who was in his house, so he paid little head. There was an annoyed, but clearly worried mutter as the footsteps entered the kitchen, and a rough, but gentle hand pushed back his bangs, feeling his forehead.

"No fever," a voice remarked, "but he definitely looks sick."

"Actual sickness and love sickness all rolled into one is never a pleasant combination, cherie," another sighed knowingly.

Alfred raised dazed eyes to the pair with an annoyed frown, "And you've come over to comment on my health, Arthur, Francis?"

"No," England said instantly.

"More or less," France smiled, earning a piercing glare from his spouse. He ignored it, "Ami, we were simply worried about you. We've hardly seen you at all since . . ." He stalled, "Well, you know, since the Cuban Missile Crisis."  
England was sipping at America's cooling coffee, "Not bad," he said to himself, though he preferred tea by all means. "But yes," he added, "we were worried, Alfred. Moping around the house does you little good." He narrowed his eyes as the younger nation continued to stare blankly at the table, "Alfred, pay attention when I'm talking to you! The table's not that interesting!"  
"Yes it is," America drawled.

"It's not," Arthur retorted.

The younger man pointed at the woodwork, "It is too. Look at it closer, feel it."

Arthur sighed and complied, staring at the wooden table until his nose was nearly touching it, placing his palm on the surface. "Hmm . . . It's definitely a nice table, antique by now I expect," he said knowledgably. "Oak, right? I've seen better. Why's it so interesting?"  
"Because Kiku and I did it all over this table," America deadpanned, his frown quickly forming into a broad grin as he held up a hand for Francis to high-five, England jumping back from the table with an unmanly shriek and a horrified look on his face.

"Ah, ami, you make me so proud," Francis said, wiping a false tear from his eye.

"It's one of my life goals," Alfred smirked, tilting his chair back and balancing on his heels, "that, and weird England out at every available opportunity."

"We have goals in common then," Francis laughed, patting the younger nation on the back with approval.

England had taken at least ten steps back from the table, "I really wish you'd stop doing that," he muttered, "It's like you're holding back on telling me about various surfaces just so I can touch them."

"Exactly," Alfred said with a smirk, "and even if it has been years since it actually happened, you still flip." His smile began to fade again as he dug around in his pocket, pulling out an envelope. He passed it wordlessly to Arthur, "I march out day after tomorrow with my people," he said quietly. "And I'll tell you right now, I'm already losing this war. And with Russia supporting Vietnam, if I make one wrong move, or hell, if he's just pissed that day, I'll be nuked in a second.

"So what's the envelope for?" England asked, looking at it warily.

"If something happens to me, I want you to give it to Kiku. Not right away, mind you," America warned, "wait awhile. Wait until he starts to smile again. That way he won't cry anymore than he already will." He smiled slightly as Arthur looked mortified. "But don't worry, I don't plan on dying. This is a just in case, kay?"

Francis was staring at his feet, clearly uncomfortable, "Mon ami," he said guiltily, "if anything happens to you, I'll take full responsibility." He held up a hand as America opened his mouth to protest, "Non, don't say it. Vietnam was my responsibility, and I let her get out of hand. She's reckless and angry because of _my _mistakes, ami. Not yours." He smiled apologetically at England, "Cherie, we really are awful parents, non?"

England leaned on his shoulder, gripping the taller nation's sleeve reassuringly, "Yes. But that doesn't mean that things can't be fixed. Alfred doesn't hate us, right?" He laughed as America mocked flipping him off, "And neither does Matthew. Sealand's just full of hot air, and Hong Kong and Seychelles are pretty indifferent to our involvement period. Vietnam is just . . . She's like Alfred back in the late 1700's. Rebellious and pissed. She'll get over it. One day."

"I wish that day was today," Francis sighed. He turned his gaze back to America, frowning as he eyed the careless way his clothes were thrown on, and completely unlatching. "Ugh, ami," he muttered, "wardrobe change, now." The older nation motioned towards Arthur with a hand, "Go call that nice restaurant a few blocks down. We're going out to eat once we fix up this slob here."

"I don't need fixing up!" Alfred exclaimed haughtily, clinging to his chair for dear life as Francis effortlessly lifted him up, chair and all, "Iggy! Help!"  
Arthur rolled his eyes, "I think not. Francis is right, you need some time out." He waved his hand at them to carry on, "Now, excuse me while I make restaurant arrangements." He cocked a characteristic eyebrow at Francis, "Oh, do you mind if I invite some other people too? I can't get any intelligent conversation out of you two." He smirked as the pair stared at him, offended, before he reached over for the phone on the kitchen counter. "And before I put this to my ear, it wasn't used for anything nasty, was it?" he asked, directing a glare at America.

"No," the blond said slowly, "But that kitchen sink you have your hand on, yes." He laughed as England recoiled and leapt back, getting twisted up in the phone cord and tripping over his feet, landing face down on the tiled floor. Unfortunately for him, no one tried to help him up, France laughing so hard he loosened his grip on America enough that the younger nation made a mad dash towards the stairs in a futile effort to get away. He was caught halfway up said stairs by a much faster Francis.

America had to say he was genuinely surprised by the multitude of people that England had invited, almost like a miniature world meeting. Canada sat on the side of him England hadn't already claimed, looking rather nervous as well, an emotion America was adept at hiding. Kumajiro had managed to wander into the middle of their white table-clothed table and was licking the salt shaker experimentally, despite Canada's warnings of "down" and "no." He was not a very obedient pet it seemed. America's younger brother also seemed to have acquired a new friend as well, in the form of the yellow chick perched rather precariously on his head, Matthew's long curl in its beak.

"He's for Prussia," Canada had whispered when America had stared at him questioningly, "since his other bird died. I'm going to give this one to him when he gets back."

The older twin swallowed and assured his brother that this was a wonderful idea, though his heart had broken at the thought. The statement that Prussia might_ never_ come back died on his tongue, tasting bitter. It was the same taste that lingered in his mouth when he thought of how he was meant to head off to war two sunrises from now, and the way that Japan would cry should he die. Mentally, he prayed and swore that it would never happen, for either him, or Gilbert.

Germany and Italy sat on the other side of France, who seemed to be challenging Germany to so much as look at England the wrong way, the shorter nation on France's opposite side. Italy seemed oblivious to this, having taken up the seat between the two blonds and was currently on his third plate of pasta. Every once in awhile, he would turn to smile at Germany and whisper something to him, reassuring words that were meant for the other's ears alone. And as the meal went on, the stiffness of the European nation's posture that America had noticed faded away the more Italy whispered these secret things to him.

It was just as Ludwig and Alfred were in a heated debate over trying to fly more supply planes over to the east side of the Berlin wall that the door to the restaurant opened. America blinked in shock and sunk into his seat in surprise and guilt as two more people, or rather, nations, strode in. The first was a bit taller than the second, but only just barely, his dark hair falling loosely over his eyes but not hiding his thick eyebrows reminiscing of England's. The second nation was supported on his shoulder, looking worn out from however long of a trip they'd had to make to get here. The slight curl to his hair and the hate in his eyes was all too familiar to America, and he squeezed his own eyes shut as Matthew gripped his hand comfortingly beneath the table.

England stood up and went to greet the two, hugging the first briefly, smiling and laughing at a comment that was passed between them. Hong Kong had gotten along with England in a way that America never had. Even though the blond could admit (reluctantly) that he owed England for everything he'd done for him in his younger years, he was never once thankful for it. But Hong Kong _was_. It showed in his smile and his looks that he shared with the person that he willingly referred to as Nii-san, big brother. It was only to himself that he said that England was his father.

America flinched as the second nation, Korea, continued to glare daggers at him. _No,_ he thought with regret_, not _Korea_. South_ Korea. That was what he'd reduced the other nation too. And he deserved the scorn and the hate that radiated off of him.

"_Punishing yourself does not make up for your sins. Forgiveness from those you've done wrong by is the only thing that can heal your own guilt. And that's something that's hard to come by."_

It was then that the blond stood up, encouraged by Kiku's words ringing in his head, and crossed the room to stand at England's side. He couldn't help but notice the way Korea instantly back peddled, restrained slightly by Hong Kong's grip on his shoulder. It reminded him of how Japan had reacted when he'd first woken up after the bombs. So America smiled, and reached out his hand, a gesture of peace, towards the other. "You know," he said softly, "Your brother once told me that the best way to move on, is to heal."

Korea's eyes darted between the offered hand and the floor, confusion clear in his dark eyes. Slowly, he raised his own hand to grasp Americas, "Onii-chan always was an idiot," he relented with a mocking sigh, "Because certainly he knows that forgiveness was invented in Korea ~ da ze!"

America blinked, and then laughed, shaking his hand, "So, would it be okay if we started over, Korea?"

"Only if I don't have to eat your cooking," Korea said seriously, "And I also want some trading opened up between us. I like those . . . What are they called, the things with the bread and that awful minced meat from god knows where that tastes amazing, considering?"

"Hamburgers," America grinned, "And I think that we're going to get along just fine from now on."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

England fell backwards onto his bed with a weary sigh, moving his arms so that they rested above him and reaching lazily for a pillow. The look that had flitted in and out of America's eyes all throughout dinner had unnerved him. It was the same sort of look he'd seen during the Korean War, dark and uncaring. He'd seen it in so many other nations' eyes, and he wondered vaguely if that was how he'd appeared to America during the Revolutionary War.

He could only pray that Alfred wouldn't lose it this time, like he'd done with Korea. And at the same time, he prayed that Vietnam wouldn't kill him. He wouldn't put it past her. She was no longer the kind, innocent child that Francis had lovingly raised. In fact, her eyes were colder than Alfred's during war, and that was every day.

The blond sat up a bit as a weight settled on the end of the bed, his eyes flicking over Francis's exhausted features. Balancing on one arm, he pulled the older nation down beside him, curling into his chest with another sigh. France draped an arm around him, murmuring something incoherent into his hair. "He'll be all right, won't he?" Arthur asked softly, fingers clenching into the folds of the other's shirt.

France closed his eyes, listening to England's breathing for a moment before he spoke, "Yes. He's thickheaded and rash, but I believe that he will pull through, just like he has for the last two hundred years. We just need this war to end as quickly as possible."

"The war with Vietnam?"

"No," Francis whispered, "With Ivan. He's the one pushing all these countries to fight America, when they never would have before. He hasn't had the space to breath since before World War Two, and that was over twenty years ago now, cherie. I'm sure you remember what it was like to have nothing but war and death around you for decades."

"A Hundred Years War," Arthur murmured against his chest, staring down at the silver band on his left ring finger with glazed eyes. "We were married right before then too, technically. With Isabella and Edward married, by all laws, so were you and I."

"And then we fought," France continued with a nod, "For one hundred years. It went on so long that I . . . I really believed, for the first time in my life, that I hated you, cherie."

"But then that Joan of Arc stopped it," here England paused, regret washing over him, "You loved her, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

France shifted and encircled his arms around the other country comfortingly, "As a daughter, like Ivan loved Anastasia. Nothing more."

England choked and repressed a sob, fingers reaching up to tangle in France's hair, "And I . . . Burned her. I had her burned because I hated you, Francis. I did it out of spite, and the hatred I was sure I felt after a hundred years of fighting." He coughed and held back the tears that threatened to leave his eyes, "I don't . . . I don't want Alfred to become something like that. As cold, and as _heartless_ as we were."

"I know, cherie," Francis whispered near his ear, hugging him close, "I know."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Korea threw off his coat as he stepped into the house, leaving it lying on the floor in a heap. It never ceased to piss him off, the way Hong Kong's house was styled like those in England, rather than a traditional Chinese house. "You really love that damn tea-bastard, don't you," he muttered with a frown, kicking off his shoes as he entered the living room.

Behind him, Hong Kong leaned against the open door before shutting it calmly, "I do," he said honestly, not breaking in his stride as he bent down to pick up Korea's coat.

"I could see it in your eyes when you spoke to him," Korea snarled, narrowing his eyes in distrust. "Why do you look at him like that? _Aniki_ is your brother, not that man."

Hong Kong sat down on the arm of the couch, staring up at him with expressionless eyes, "England raised me, when China would have just left me to fend for myself. Because I was born from the fact that England claimed my area of land, made it separate from China. Do you know what he told me, Korea?" The young city blinked slowly, watching his older brother for a reaction, "Korea, he told me . . . He told me that he could not touch me because England had touched me. That I was tainted, poisoned. I would have died, Korea, if England had not figured out that I had acquired a human form." Hong Kong swallowed at the look of disbelief on Korea's face at this proclamation, "I love him, Yong-Soo. Because he raised me, saved me."

"His eyebrows look better on you," Korea said after a moment of silence.

The younger man laughed, "Yes, I suppose they do. China can't look me in the eye because of them." He smiled, "I was his unwanted child, Korea. He never loved me. If he does now, he won't say so. It will be a far off day when he does."

Korea rolled his eyes, "Aniki . . . Is very stubborn. He never says that to anyone. Not since Japan and I left him. Not once since then." He shrugged, "Did . . . Did England . . ." He couldn't ask.

"Every day. He told me he loved me every day." Hong Kong whispered, "He was a kind father, Korea. For awhile, I grew up with Canada and America too, did you know? They're my brother's as much as you and Nihon are." He stood up, reaching out a hand to brush his fingers against Korea's cheek, "Korea, are you jealous?"

"N-no way!" Korea huffed, taking half a step back.

Hong Kong smiled, "You're a terrible liar, you know."

"Lying was invented in Korea!" the nation retorted instantly, blushing.

The other laughed again, "I'm sure it was," he ran his fingers over Korea's chin thoughtfully, tracing slowly down to where he knew the long and still tender scar that America had carved lay across the nation's chest. "Korea . . . I love you, you know that, right?"

Korea was deathly silent for a moment, reaching up to grip Hong Kong's hand and lowering it to his stomach, to where he knew that the older scar lay, the one Japan had given him. "I know," he whispered almost inaudibly, "because . . . When I rescued Aniki the day I got this . . . I was rescuing you too, Hong Kong."

The slightly taller man pulled the other close, a content silence settling between them. "Korea," he said slowly, "Do you . . . Do you think that this war is going to go on forever?"

"No," Korea murmured into Hong Kong's shoulder, "Because if it does . . . Nii-chan . . . He'll break."

"Japan is strong, he'll-"

"No," Korea repeated, arms encircling the city, "He's not the nation he once was. He's not strong. He'll fall apart, Hong Kong. Without sufficient trade, without an army, and with his government still in trying to reform without an emperor, he'll die." He swallowed, "And even though I said I hated him . . . I don't want Nihon to die."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Japan leaned out of his window, the one facing East, towards America's house. He stretched a hand out into the chilly spring air, wondering if it was possible for his lights to be seen from America's house, but he doubted it. The fingers clenched back against his hand, and he closed his eyes, imagining America making the same motions.

"_And . . . What if the war goes on for a hundred more years, two hundred even?"_

"_Then I will look out my window that faces your house every night and imagine that I could almost reach out and touch you."_

He swallowed, hard. He should have just told Alfred that he himself would not last that long. Two hundred years in isolation would leave him weak, possibly dead. It had been bad enough when he boxed himself in like that before the blond had found him the first time. That was before the technology and trade he had now. His people couldn't survive if they were cut off from it forever, especially with the limited trading he could do by remaining neutral. And without the people, there was no nation.

Kiku gritted his teeth, lowering his hand to tighten his fingers against the windowsill. _No_, he could not die. America had promised to end the war, just as he had promised to wait. He would work hard, create things that other countries didn't have yet, things that they would want. Then they would _have_ to trade with him more, like the power-hungry fools they all were. Yes, if he made things like that, things people would want, but not necessarily need for survival, then he could get by.

He would live, and keep himself busy until the war ended. He'd make a great nation out of himself so that when he finally saw America again, he would be proud of what Japan had become.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Gomen. I was sick, then my beta was sick, then I was sick again. It was lovely. Ah, school and it's germs.

Anywho . . . I love Korea. A lot. And o love Hong Kong too. And Canada (Even tho he's a . . . GO READ _SEVEN LITTLE KILLERS_! NOW!) and America, with renewed passion because of previous tiny rant in parenthesis there. :D Next chapter will be the Vietnam war and all that shenanigans, and the Sino-Soviet split. Exciting!

Hopefully a new One Last Fairytale this week before Friday, and FINALLY a new Notes Of A Love Song after Monday, but we'll see. Me and my beta are planning a weekend all-nighter of watching all three Lord Of The Rings movies because she's never seen them, I consider this a sin. :] and recently anyways I got caught up in the old fandom luvin again, mostly Harry Potter, but u know the drill. I was doing a lot of fanfic reading when I should have been writing. Which reminds me, the new chapter of that Russia/Prussia Mpreg came out today. Hmm . . .

Oh, and one last thing, before I run off to read Russia/Prussia stuff. The two Hetalia fics I will start after this one is over are Nation, and There Was A Boy. In case I have not said anything about them before, here's the summaries. Take a look when they get up! (btw, no worries, we still have 2-3 chapters left here toos.)

Nation -  Sealand knew he wouldn't last forever, not being a real country and all that. He just didn't know how much it would hurt to disappear. With only one year left, he tries to fulfill all of his last wishes, never telling anyone what's really happening. Too bad one of those wishes is a bit harder to go through with than he thought it would be. Good thing someone in similar circumstances has good advice. No one knows what happens when a nation disappears. Sealand/Latvia (Peter/Raivis), Russia/Prussia (Ivan/Gilbert). Implied France/England (Francis/Arthur), Denmark/Norway, Sweden/Finland (Bernwald/Tino), America/Japan (Alfred/Kiku), Germany/Italy (Ludwig/Feliciano).Rated M.

There Was A Boy-  Feliciano can't remember his name, can barely remember the blue eyes and the golden hair. But when a new boy moves in across the street, he can't help but wonder if the child he knew long ago, and this young man, are one and the same. Except for the chilling fact that still haunts his nightmares. The sound of screeching tires and the warmth of that child's blood on his hands. No, Ludwig and the boy he once knew cannot be the same person, can they? Ludwig/Feliciano (Germany(Holy Roman Empire)/Italy), slight Alfred/Kiku (America/Japan). Implied Roderich/Elizaveta (Austria/Hungary), Francis/Arthur (France/England), and Ivan/Gilbert (Russia/Prussia). Rated M.


	27. Chapter 27

**A Little Drop Of Healing: The Drums Of War**

America hated war. He hated the scorched ground and the sound of gunfire. He hated the whistling of bombs falling to earth and the thrum of airplane propellers through the air. He hated the smell of gunpowder and the salty tang of blood. He hated hearing the screams. But America loved his people.

Zack had spiked black hair and dark eyes, a carefree smile on his face as he leaned back, tray of carefully rationed army food in hand. "Let's play the color game, you know?" he suggested over the hum of the propellers and engine of the plane.

Cid had a fairer complexion with his dirty-blond hair and beard, but a more strongly built body and a glint in his eyes that showed that he was much more seasoned than anyone else on the plane. Well, except for America of course. "Zack, how many colors are we wearing between us?" he asked bluntly around a mouthful of beans.

"Green, brown, black . . ." Zack ticked them off on his fingers, "three."

"And we're all wearing those same three," Cid muttered, motioning to their identical camouflage uniforms, "Color game is a no-go."

Zack stuck out his lower lip and shoved a spoonful of beans into his mouth. His eyes rose to the blond sitting a few feet away, "Know any good games, Mr. Jones?"

America blinked, forgetting for a moment that _he_ was Mr. Jones. He smiled, "Well, I know a few. But I think Vincent wants to drop the pudding first." The fourth member of their party was a tall man with long dark hair held out of his eyes by a camouflage bandana around his forehead. Apparently, he'd refused to get his hair cut when he entered the force. Vincent silently held out a hand for the metal cans of tapioca pudding Alfred was holding.

They all gathered around the bomb doors in the center of the carrier plane, their payload for the night having already been dropped over an hour ago. America watched as they set their cans along the crease between the two doors from where he sat near the switch, a grin on his face. "Did any of us even try the stuff before we started this nightly ritual?"

"Not worth it," Vincent spoke up, "Any pudding that comes in a metal can _cannot_ be good for you."

"Agreed," Cid and Zack said in unison, passing a high five around the group.

"Three, two . . ." America flipped the switch, letting the bomb doors open and watching his team lean over the opening, the can's vanishing into the clouds below.

"I always hope it'll hit some commie on the head," Cid smiled, earning a nod from Vincent.

"I always hope it breaks open and gets eaten by some crazy jungle lizard, and that the pudding was _really_ bad like we all suspected it was, so it's good we didn't eat it because the lizard goes all radioactive and turns into a giant monster." Zack bared his teeth and crooked his fingers like claws, "And it'll be all like _'Aaaahh, Gojilla, aahh!'_"

America laughed while Vincent and Cid just stared, "No, no, what about a giant spider, like in that movie Tarantula?"

Zack made an _oohh_ sort of face, pointing at the blond, "Good one! But didn't the spider die by getting burned in that movie? It'd be boring if it died so easily."

"Right, right," America agreed, "Then what about Mothra? Sonic-boom our enemies and all," he continued, closing the hatch.

"How 'bout King Kong? Are there any monkeys in Vietnam?" Zack asked.

Cid let out a sigh and raised his hands, "Okay, enough of that, idiots one and two." he smiled slightly, "Jesus, Alfred. You're supposed to be out commander, not acting like Private-Immature over there."

Alfred pretended to look aghast, "Haaah? Zack, cover your ears, someone is insulting us!"

"Oh goodness no!" Zack gasped, hands to his cheeks in a classic _oh no_ expression.

"How dare you insult my child," America mocked, casting an accusing glance at Cid.

"Your child?" Cid deadpanned, "Oh, do enlighten then, who is the mother?"

America and Zack looked at each other before turning to stare at the only person not participating in the conversation, "Vincent," the said simultaneously.

"Oh goodie," Vincent muttered.

"You know you love us," America smirked. "Anywho . . . You wanted to play a game, Zack?"

"Yup!"

"What about _Never Have I Ever_?"

Cid nodded, "Sounds fine to me."

They sat in a small circle away from the bomb door on the floor of the plane, holding up their right hands with fingers splayed. "You wanna start, Cid?" Alfred asked.

"Sure," Cid conceited, pulling out a pack of cigarettes to pass around, "Never have I ever hated cigs," he smirked as Alfred put down a finger, "Seriously Al? I've seen you smoke them."

"Doesn't mean I like them," America smiled, "I've seen what they can do to a person, given time. I just use them to take my mind off of things every once in awhile."

"I'm not worried about it," Cid huffed, blowing a smoke ring at Zack, "Everyone has to die sometime. Go for it, Zack."

Zack coughed, waving the smoke ring away as he passed the pack of cigarettes to Vincent without taking one. "Never have I ever been shot," he said quickly. Both Cid and America lowered a finger, and the youngest team member's eyes widened, "Y-you've been shot? Where?"

Cid pulled up the sleeve of his camouflage uniform, revealing a puckered scar near his shoulder. "This is my second shift out here. Got this one last time," he glance over at America, "Your turn captain."

Alfred smiled, pulling down the hem of his pants just enough to show them the scar on his hip. Cid whistled, "Lucky you lived through that, I'd say. Where the heck didja' get it?"

"Pearl Harbor," he told them in all honesty.

Cid laughed, "Nice one, but no dice. You can't be much older than twenty-three."

America merely smiled, "My turn then. Never have I ever not needed a moment to cry when things go wrong."

No one lowered a finger. Vincent looked up, "Never have I ever done purposeful harm to myself." Again, Alfred lowered a finger, though no one questioned him on it this time.

Cid frowned and took another long intake on his cigarette, "Never have I ever been drafted."

Zack hesitated and lowered a finger, as did Vincent, "You _chose_ to come out to this hell hole?" he asked incredulously.

"I chose to fight for what I believe in," Cid corrected smoothly.

"I wasn't going to stand by and watch anymore," Alfred added softly. "My turn again, huh? Let's see . . . Never have I ever . . . Loved a woman!"

"That's cheating!" Cid exclaimed loudly, lowering another finger, "Everyone knows where you stand, fruity-boy!" Vincent and Zack also each lowered a finger, and Alfred laughed.

Zack rolled his eyes, "Well, two can play at that game. Never have I ever had sex."

One by one, the others lowered a finger with a scowl, or in Cid's case, a groan of annoyance. America turned a betrayed look at Zack, "Zaaack . . . Meanie. Now I'm down to one!"

Vincent snorted, "That's the point isn't it? To get the other players out so that you can win. And right now, I'm in the lead. So . . . Never have I ever-"

His words were cut off as the plane suddenly shook and dipped in the air, a sound like a crazed woodpecker banging off of the hull. America scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with alarm, "That's machinegun fire! We've been hit!" He waved a hand at Cid, "Put that smoke out, go check on the pilot!" With his free hand, he pulled a stunned Zack up off the floor of the plane, pushing him back into a seat and buckling the belt, "All-righty, fasten in squirt. And don't move unless I say so, okay?" The blond smiled as Zack nodded, "Good boy." His eyes turned to Vincent, "Come on, we need to drop any of the explosives we have left. We can't let their gunfire hit it or we're done for."

"There's just that one in the back," Vincent informed, moving with him towards the back bomb-doors where a smaller bomb was hanging above them, "The emergency one."

America nodded, flipping the switch that opened the hatch and placing a hand on the other that would drop the bomb. "Where are we, exactly?"

"No fucking idea," Vincent growled, getting down on hands and knees to peer out of the hatch, his long hair whipping around him in the wind, "Oh my god, are they that stupid? They're going to fly that plane right under us. Get ready to drop it on the idiots." He leaned back so that the thing wouldn't hit him when it fell, holding up a hand, "Ready . . . Now!"

Cid cursed as an explosion echoed below the plane, stumbling where he was trying to untangle the pilot from his seatbelt, the man dead where he sat, shot through the front window which was now letting air in through a large hole in its right side. He pulled the man out, leaving his body on the floor of the cockpit as he sat down in the seat, taking the controls in hand. He reached up and grabbed the microphone dangling on its cord above his head, "Al, get your asses strapped in, we're making an emergency landing before they can find their backup. Pilot's dead."

America scrambled up to the front of the plane, nearly tripping over the body, "Jesus, can you fly it, Cid?"

"Don't worry about it; I build these things back home. Make sure the kid's got his belt on, Vince too," Cid growled, flashing him an uneasy smile.

Worry clouded America's eyes, but he nodded, making his way to the middle of the plane again as it began to dive towards the ground in a manner that told him that he should worry about it, and a quick glance out the nearest window told him why. Their right wing was half gone. Vincent was already strapped in, arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed as if this was nothing more than a boring ride at an amusement park. The blond went over and double-checked Zack's seatbelt, tightening it a bit before he slid in between them, strapping himself in.

"Mr. Jones?" Zack's voice wavered, and America could tell he was trying not to show he was afraid, "Are we going to die?" "Not yet, kiddo," America smiled reassuringly. "You're under my protection, kay? I won't let you die." And he meant it. There was a rumbling jolt and an audible series of snaps that told the blond that they'd hit the tree line, and Zack tangled a hand into the nation's uniform sleeve as the plane skidded into the ground with a screeching crunch of steel.

America drew in a shaky breath, more than anything just to assure himself that he _could_ breathe. The outtake was just as hesitant as he fumbled with his seatbelt, standing up on unsteady legs. "Vince," he said after a momentary glance to assure his comrade was all right, "search the back for any supplies and weapons we can carry. Pack them up in one of the issue bags." He stepped over to Zack, undoing his buckle and ruffling his hair reassuringly, "Go help him out, kay? We're safe now, we're on the ground." He could still see the shock of the matter sinking into the other's dark eyes, and he tried to distract him from it. "I'll go check on Cid and see what I can find in the front."

The pilot's cabin was a complete wreck, and America's heart sank upon entering it. The front of the plane was warped and twisted, the dashboard glass shattered where Cid's head had obviously hit it. The man himself was unconscious in his seat, blood trickling down his face from the cuts on his forehead. Alfred crouched down next to him, hands quickly working to untangle him from the wreckage.

"Shit," Cid mumbled, coming back to reality as the other blond tried to pull him out of the twisted metal, "Stop it. My leg-"

"Vincent! Can you find some straight pieces of wood? About arm length, four or so please," America called to the back of the plane, ignoring Cid's protests and heaving him out in one fluid motion.

Cid cursed and bit his lip, "Fuck, Al, you're strong. Where'd you put all that hidden muscle?" "I figure it's in like, Montanna or Minnesota or something," America smirked.

There was an awkward pause at the reply before Cid smirked half-heartedly, "Sometimes, I just don't get you," he muttered.

"That's probably a good thing," America smiled, looking up as Vincent squeezed in beside them, some sturdy strips of wood in hand.

"The plane's unsalvageable," the dark haired man said softly, "Took these from the hull." He handed them to Alfred and watched the blond begin to tear up his army shirt to make strips and bind up Cid's broken leg, "What are we going to do, Alfred?"

America's eyes narrowed in uncertainty, "I don't know, Vincent," he whispered honestly. "Carry Cid and what little supplies we have out of here and try to make it to the nearest U.S. base I suppose," he swallowed, tying a particularly tight knot around Cid's calf, making him wince and hiss through his teeth. "But let's just pretend we have a decent plan, okay?"

"Can't let the kid know," Cid nodded, biting his lip in pain as America methodically tied the splints and straightened his bones as best as he could. "You're pretty good at this," he growled, trying not to make too much noise as Alfred twisted his ankle to snap his bone back in place, "Where'd you learn medical skills? It's not part of our training.

"Civil war," America said unconsciously, "Since the doctors were shit then. They'd have rather cut off your leg than do this, it saved time." He blinked when he realized what he'd said, placing a false smile on his face with a nervous laugh, "Kidding."

Cid smirked and nodded at the reply, but Alfred shivered a bit when Vincent cast him a knowing look. Even in a situation such as this, he couldn't blow the world's greatest secret. Not that he hadn't before, though he could only count a few people outside of his bosses, security, and government, that he'd told himself. Benjamin Franklin, Amelia Earhart, Ulysses Grant, Martin Luther King, and one or two others he had little time to recall, as Zack walked stood outside the cramped pilot's cabin, bulging bag of supplies in his arms.

"Ready to go?" America asked with an unsteady smile.

"Yeah," Zack nodded, though his voice shook with the answer. "But, where are we going to go? I looked at the map, and the nearest base from what I can tell, is over three days away."

Alfred's eyes clouded briefly with worry before he shook it off, "Good boy, Zack. I can't read a map to save my life. But don't worry, that's not too far, it could be worse."

Vincent's eyes lowered to the ground, "It could also be a hell of a lot better," he muttered under his breath. America shot him a dangerous glare, and he quieted, flinching almost unnoticeably at the icy gaze. "We should make up a single line, Alfred in front with Cid, Zack in the middle, and I'll take up the rear," he went on as if nothing had happened. "Even if Alfred is carrying Cid, he can still fire a gun one handed. And I'll load up one of the big boys and guard our backs. Zack, you're in charge of the map."

Zack made a disappointed frown, clearly not wanting to be dubbed as the map boy. Cid however, looked furious, "Hell no. Leave me behind, you know very well that I'll just be a burden like that."

"It sounds like a plan," America said, ignoring Cid's comment with a look, silencing any more protest. "No man left behind, Cid."

The older man groaned in annoyance, "Fine. Have it your way, fuckin' hero."

A small, genuine smile lit up Alfred's features, "Yeah, exactly. It's my job to be the hero and get us out of this mess." His hands strayed to his belt, touching each of the four handguns strapped there one at a time. "We'll make it out, all of us," he whispered.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

The first day was the longest. They spent what was left of the night in a sleepless huddle in the wreckage, waiting to get a sense of their surroundings at dawn. And no matter how good Zack was at reading a map, once they were out in the jungle; a map did them little good amidst the thickly grouped trees and foliage. They ended up circling around an area by accident twice before they realized it, Zack having to climb a tree and get an estimated calculation of their location. And no matter how strong America was, carrying another person for over twelve hours was utterly exhausting, especially on the energy supplied by what scant food they had and shared. He used one arm to hold Cid against his back, and the other was constantly at his side, fingering the grip of his gun. Vincent seemed to be the only one who seemed even slightly unruffled by the situation, carrying on at the end of their trail without a word the entire day.

On the dawn of the second day, voices alerted them that they were _not_ alone in the jungle, and America inwardly cursed for not having thought of covering their tracks. But footprints or not, crashing through the jungle leaves a very telltale sign. They packed up and moved out just before dawn, making a quick pace away from the noises. "That is definitely not English," Cid had informed them the moment they first heard it in the early morning. They did not linger to rest in any one area for more than a moment after that. Alfred kept them moving, despite his own wearing fatigue, unease prickling at his spine every time the voices got close enough for his keen ears to catch. Not just because they were clearly being followed, but because he could swear one of the voices was female, something almost unheard of in the armies of their enemies. With one exception. And he had no intention of proving that theory.

But as the sun set that night, they couldn't go any further without a decent break. Zack was ready to pass out, his chest heaving and his cheeks flushed with exertion, and even the stone-faced Vincent swayed slightly on his feet as he sat down heavily in the undergrowth. America, however, wouldn't rest, and he paced back and forth in silence until he heard the voices of their pursuers fade away somewhere to the east, and he let out a held back breath. "We can't stall long," he said after a moment, eyes shifting through the gaps in the trees, constantly on alert.

Zack huffed in annoyance, a wheezy sound in his state, "Why? We should just stay put and ambush them, we can take them, Vince says there can't be more than ten. A few good shots from you, Mr. Jones, and we can move on without worry."

"No, that's not going to be enough," Alfred hissed, shoulders hunching as he felt that uneasy tingle along his back again.

"Yes it will!" Zack's voice was desperate, and America blinked in the terror at his eyes, "If you don't even try, we'll never make it! We'll _die_ here!"

America gritted his teeth, "Quite, Zack. You don't understand the situation! I think there's someone in the other group that could match me blow for blow! I can't risk your lives on that kind of gamble! If I thought they were all mortal, I would have fallen back to dispose of them already!"

"M-mortal?"

"Oh, you totally just blurted it out, didn't you," a mocking voice spoke up from the shadows not far away, "I get the feeling that you're terrible at keeping secrets, _America_."

The blond started, whirling so that he placed himself between his teammates and the speaker emerging from between the palms. "I knew I felt you somewhere around here," he growled, though his knees shook from more than just exhaustion, betraying his fear. "And what do you think you're doing, saying that name? You know the law, war or not."

"I decided the law doesn't apply at the moment, since the witnesses here won't be around long enough for it to matter," a young woman stepped out into the moonlight, throwing a long, dark ponytail over her shoulder, letting it trial across her green robes and the top of the huge wooden oar she had trapped across her back. "And who would tell anyways?" She smirked, drawing a gun out of a holster on her hip, cocking it in the blonde's direction, "Noble, true-hearted _America_, who's too stubborn to mind his own business and keep his nose out of the affairs of countries that can solve their own damn problems?" "Shut up," Alfred hissed.

"_America_ the hero, _America _the brave, _America_ the too stupid to leave his men behind to save his own neck," she continued as if she hadn't heard.

"They're my people!" America yelled, furious at her suggestion, "I would _never_ put my life above theirs, Vietnam!" She laughed as her name was finally spoken aloud. Cid's eyes flicked back and forth between them from his position between Zack and Vincent, supported by them, "Al, what the hell is she talking about?"

"Your people are too nosey, like you," she muttered, pointing the gun around Alfred to the other blond instead. "And besides, America, you know very well that that was a lie." She smirked darkly, "If those three, and my brother that you love so much were all about to fall to their deaths, and you only had time to reach one, you would choose Japan, every time."

His eyes narrowed dangerously, "You better not have touched him. I swear to god that if you lay one finger on Kiku-"

"You'll what, kill me?" she laughed, 'It's too late, America. Can't you see I've already won?"

There was a crack of a gunshot, and she stumbled where she stood, raising a shaking hand to her side where a spurt of blood dripped through her fingers. Cid had a gun in his hand, swiped from Vincent's backpack. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, stop talking. No one cares." He turned his gaze to Alfred, "Get the kid and stoic boy out of here," he growled. America shook his head, choking on his words of protest. But Cid merely grinned weakly at him, saluting sarcastically, "You knew I wouldn't make it anyways, Al. Go." The other blond bit his lip in regret, and saluted back.

Zack screamed as Alfred grabbed him around the waist, hauling him away through the trees with Vincent following quickly behind. "No! No! Go back! We can take her! It's just one girl!" Vincent whirled and slapped him across the face, "Shut up before you draw the rest of them too us, you idiot," he muttered under his breath, "Can't you see that this is bigger than the two of us?" He took in a breath that wavered with anger as drew up beside America, "And you, what the hell have you been hiding from us?"

"I can't tell you," Alfred hissed, making a path through the trees and flinching as a volley of shots rang out behind them, spelling out the fate of Cid without words.

"Why not."

"It's the law. The only constant one between all the nations and Vietnam was a fool to break it," he said lowly, keeping his grip on Zack as he struggled to go back and help his comrade they'd left behind.

"You weren't lying when you said that you learned that stuff in the civil war. Or about that scar on your hip, are you," Vincent darted around a tree, snaking under some low hanging branches to get a step ahead of the other.

"No." "Then what the fuck are you? You have to be over a hundred years old then," he eyed the other out of the corners of his dark eyes warily, "You . . . You are on our side, right?" "Always," America snapped, crouching down to slid down a steep ravine. "And I'm almost two hundred if you could my _official_ creation. But past that, I'm probably nearing a thousand." He turned to glare at Vincent with narrowed blue eyes, "I'm always on your side. Even if the fat of this war didn't heavily impact me, every single one of you who dies is like my child, Vincent. It hurt more than you would ever know."

Zack had slumped in Alfred's grip, and after a moment of silence in their hasty retreat, America let him go. "He's dead, isn't he," Zack whispered, "Cid."

"Yes, Vietnam wouldn't have been killed by a single bullet, and a normal one at that. No number of normal bullets could have killed her," America replied.

The youngest team member nodded, as if that made sense. But his eyes drooped with weariness, and for the rest of their near silent journey that night, he didn't make a sound, merely handing onto the back of America's coat as they walked.

It was sometime not long after the dawn of the third day that Vincent finally spoke again. America was barely keeping on his feet as they walked, Zack fast asleep on his back, both of the blonde's arms supporting him. "I knew all along, I think," he said softly as they stumbled through the jungle in the general direction they hoped their camp was in. "That you weren't . . . Human."

"That's a cruel way to say it," America whispered. "I have emotions, the ability to speak, opposable thumbs, and can walk on two legs," he smiled slightly, "In the definition of the word, I am very much human."

"But you cannot die," Vincent said coldly.

"Yes, I can. I can die if the economy goes under, and the entire federal bank fails for good. I can die if another nation destroys the land and this body with bombs and fire. I can die if one day, there are no more people in what is now The United States Of America." He shrugged, "Just because it's complicated, doesn't mean it can't be done."

Vincent's eyes narrowed, "So when you said that the scar was from Pearl Harbor . . ."

"Yeah. It's not _from_ Pearl Harbor. It _is_ Pearl Harbor," he smiled, "I can't tell you much more than that, Vince. I'm already breaking the law that's been set down since the first one of us was born."

He looked away, "You never asked me how I realized you weren't normal. Why?"

"I suppose some people just know. Like a sixth sense," America said, eyes shining as if the idea fascinated him.

A huff of laughter escaped Vincent at the look, "No. Nothing like that." He tilted his head to the side, "Last night, I remembered. My father used to work for the very inner ring of the Secret Service. He brought me to work with him when I was small, nearly twenty years ago. You haven't changed at all since then. I thought at first that maybe the man I saw then had been your father, but I knew that couldn't be it. You were too similar."

"Ugh, note to self. No more _take your kid to work _day for the security," America joked. Vincent smiled.

It was too late by the time they noticed the reek of blood behind them, or the crunch of leaves underfoot. Zack's eyes flew open with a shriek as the bullet hit him in the back, the sound of the gun delayed by the speed, and close range of the shot. "Damn. I was trying to get America," Vietnam cursed from the bushes. Vincent roared with rage, whirling on her and drawing his gun from his belt, firing at her hiding place as she leapt aside. His eyes narrowed and he immediately followed her into the dense undergrowth.

America dropped to his knees on the muddy ground, lowing Zack carefully off his back. Blood seeped through the rear of his army camouflage coat onto his hands, and he desperately tried to press his palm to the gashing wound to slow the crimson tide, but it only seemed to increase. "Zack!" he yelled when the teen's eyes strayed to the gray clouds overhead, "Zack, look at me! Stay with me here!"

"Never have I ever been shot," Zack whispered, holding up a shaking hand without lowering a finger.

The blond nodded, "Yeah, I know buddy. Now shhh, stop talking. You're making it worse."

Zack smiled, coughing suddenly as blood came up in his mouth and throat, dripping out between his lips. "Never have I ever died," he went on. Except this time, he lowered a finger. "You win, Mr. Jones."

"No. No I don't. That's not how you win the game, Zack!" But Zack's eyes had gone to the clouds again, glazed and unfocused. "Zack, stay with me!" "I hated being drafted. I shouldn't have been drafted at all," the words were slurred, and America could barely make them out among the blood that bubbled in the other's mouth, "Because I lied about my age to get a job. Karma, huh? It bites you in the ass."

"No . . . Please, don't say stuff like that," America begged, staring at the blood all over his clothes and hands, still unable to stop it from flowing out of the gaping hole in Zack's back.

"Only seventeen," Zack murmured. "And I dropped out of school. Wish I hadn't. Wouldn't be here then." He sighed, "Friend . . . of mine, he'll be so sad."

"Stop," but America's pleading was in vain, and he knew it.

"Promised I'd come back without a scratch. Lied . . ." Zack's eyes clouded, the light in them quickly fading even as America sobbed and pressed both hands to the injury, a futile effort. "Sorry . . . Mr. Jones . . . Tell Vincent to tell him I'm sorry. Cl-" The name never left his lips, and America screamed as his eyes fogged into a soulless glass. And he screamed.

He could hear a never-ending chant in his head, and no matter how hard he screamed, it would not leave.

_Hey, Hey, L.B.J. How many kids did you kill today? Hey, Hey, L.B.J. How many kids did you kill today? Hey, Hey, L.B.J. How many kids did you kill today? _

He clutched Zack's lifeless body to him, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

_Hey, Hey, L.B.J. How many kids did you kill today? Hey, Hey, L.B.J. How many kids did you kill today? Hey, Hey, L.B.J. How many kids did you kill today? _

He'd been only a child. And America had let him die.

Vincent returned a little over an hour later, long after America's screams had ceased. Carrying Zack's body, as the blond refused to leave it behind; they managed to make it to the base by the dawn of the fourth day. America called his boss and demanded an immediate end to the war, and made it the only one in his history that he ever lost by doing so. He passed on Zack's last words to Vincent, who seemed to understand, and with connections, America was able to allow him a phone call. He hadn't listened in, but he knew what was said, as the anguish was clear as day on Vincent's face when he returned. They were flown home the following month.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

"I told you to listen to me," Russia hissed between his teeth, lavender eyes narrowed in frustration, his fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard that it cracked ominously.

"And I told you that I don't agree with those terms ~ aru!" China retorted angrily. He swept a hand across the larger nation's desk, sending the stack of papers there flying. "This is the sixth time, Ivan! You're enforcing policies I can't see eye to eye with you on! You're being too controlling ~ aru!" He bit his lip, dark eyes blazing, "And this war has gone on far too long. Nearly forty years so far ~ aru. And you're _using_ my siblings and me." He flicked a strand of hair from his face, taking a cautionary step back as Russia growled threateningly at the accusation. "I did what I did to Japan because it was eye for eye." A hand strayed to his back, indicating the long scar hidden under is clothes, a mark of his long ago wars with his brother, "But forcing Korea and Vietnam into this was too much. And I swear to god, if you take one step near Taiwan or Hong Kong-"

"Hong Kong is the perfect tool to use against England-"

"I've had enough!" Yao shrieked. "You will not touch them anymore! Korea is permanently broken in half because of you! It's killing his physical body! And Vietnam is in chaos because America pulled out!"

"It was nessisar-"

"No, it wasn't ~ aru," China whispered, "You've become a monster, Ivan. And so have I. I'm done. No more of this warless war. Continue with this path of destruction you've made for yourself, if you wish. But you will no longer find me on it."

A howl of rage escaped Russia, and China darted out the door just before the desk was hurled at him, splintering into pieces against the wall and doorframe. But he did not follow. His shoulders shook with fury and anguish, and he stormed past the destroyed remains of the desk and down the hall. He watched with narrowed eyes as Lithuania was pulled out of his way by a wary-gazed Poland, and Hungary and Ukraine ushered Latvia and Estonia into another room out of his sight.

In the end, only Belarus stood in his way, blocking the door to his room with a firm stance. "Big brother-"

"Get out of the way," he growled.

Her eyes wavered between the door and his towering form, "No. Brother, you-" She started as a hand rested on her shoulder, pulling her aside.

"Do as he says, Natalia," Prussia murmured, opening the door for the larger nation to pass by them before following and locking it behind him, closing it to a frustrated Belarus. He waited a moment, watching as the man who had captured and tortured him stalked across the room, glaring at the curtains of a broad window as if he would rip them down just for the hell of it. "Don't you dare throw a fit, Ivan," he said lowly.

Ivan glared at him over his shoulder, grabbing the curtains in his fist and ripping them, rod and all, from the wall above the window, plaster flying everywhere. He went to his bookshelf next, knocking it over with his brute force and flinging the books one by one at the opposite wall with as much force as possible, pages floating to the floor as some of the older tomes literally burst upon impact. His nightstand, his small desk, and his bed sheets were all given a similar treatment until the entire room was a disaster, his lavender eyes daring Prussia to say anything.

So of course, he did, "You'll clean this up later, Ivan." It wasn't a request, or even a threat. Just a statement.

Russia made a dangerous noise in the back of his throat, pacing forward until he was nearly nose to nose with the other. But he could not bring himself to hit him, and he slumped, head resting on Gilbert's shoulder with a strangled sob.

"_Ivan, I've told you not to do this," Prussia's voice was scolding, but gentle. "Throwing things around doesn't change anything, it just makes a mess." He balanced the small boy on the crook of his arm, crouching down to gaze regretfully at a shredded book. "And if you destroy your things, that's just punishing yourself, isn't it? You can't read this book anymore, and it was one of your favorites, wasn't it."_

_Russia's eyes clouded with tears when he caught sight of the mangled pages, handiwork he'd done himself, "_The White Bunny_," he said forlornly._

"_Hmm, that's too bad. But maybe you'll learn now. Don't wreck things you like," Prussia mused, beginning to sort the pages into some sort of recognizable order. "I'll see what I can do about this one, but you'll have to pick up the rest of it yourself, got it?" He rested his chin against the top of the boy's head, "And Ivan, crying won't get anyone's sympathies. You're a nation, crying only shows weakness."_

_Ivan sniffled and buried his face in the folds of the older boy's Teutonic robes and cried anyways._

He pushed Prussia to the ground, the older man's back against the oak door so that he could press his face into that same shoulder with a choked sob. "China's right . . ." he whispered, "No more."

Prussia allowed his cheek to rest against ash-blond locks, one arm wrapping loosely around the other's back, "No more what?"

"I'm going to let the wall fall," Ivan replied softly. "I can't . . . I can't do this anymore. I've hurt _everyone_ who was ever close to me. And I can't do it anymore. Even if all of you leave me, I can't keep this going."

"Are you going to call America?" "Tomorrow," Russia assured. "For now, I just . . ." He Hid his tears against the other's shoulder again, shaking his head.

"I know." There wasn't anything else he could say. Because even after everything Ivan had done to him, he was still as helpless as a child. The same child that Prussia had held in his arms over and over again for over a hundred years as he grew and became strong enough to fight his own wars. So, for now, he would do the same. If only for a little while.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Late. Very late. Gomen. I have a 10 page thing of death due soon and I'm epic failing on it. End of senior year is turning out to be a royal pain in my ass. On the plus side tho, have a dorm and room picked out for next year. Which is apparently haunted. Lovely.

Most of this chapter was America and the sorta OC's. I say sorta, because some (if not most) of you will recognize them. You can guess where they're from tho. Lolol. Here is a hint, the name Zack tried to say as he died was Cloud. Oh wait, now it's obvious. Anywho . . .

The thing with the pudding at the very beginning is a true story tho, however. My grandpa and his team used to do that in the Vietnam War because the stuff was apparently really nasty. So I included it here. :]

And then the stuff at the end was all Soviet-Sino split, with Prussia comforting of course. Prussia actually, according to history, would have basically been Russia's main caretaker after Ukraine left him. So there was a brief flashback of that too, because I always found it cute. Next chapter . . . The wall comes down. And what does that mean? It means we are three chapters from the end, fools. Lol. Just kidding. But really, something angst and tear-jerking next chapter for an epic reuniting.


	28. Chapter 28

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Side Story: Blood and Water**

* Yes, yes, I know you all want the new chapter. Shut up. It's being posted the same day as this. This is a much overdue request for my RP partner, which ended up working itself into this story because it fit better that way. And then i could get away with writing less. So here, Lizzi, look what I FINALLY got done. It's probably crap. =_=*

_Korea remembered that day all too well, it was burned into his mind as the first, and possibly only time, he'd ever doubted his Aniki. It was the first time he'd ever seen China act so cruel. _

_It was raining, an almost normal phenomena in the late summer time near the ocean. Korea was still rather young as countries went, but he still towered over his brother by quite a lot, if he said so himself. China practically glared up at the sky as they walked through the bustling streets of Hong Kong. He shouldn't have been surprised really, he knew how much his older brother absolutely despised the place since England had taken it over, but in Korea's eyes, he was still being irrational. _

"_It never rained here this much when I held the rights to this city," Yao grumbled at the cloud darkened sky, as if the weather could somehow be England's fault. _

"_You'll get it back one day, Aniki," Korea said lightly, trying to optimistic. He didn't expect China to whirl on him, dark eyes glinting in such a way that the younger nation stumbled back in alarm._

"_I don't want it back ~ aru" the older snarled, "Not after he's had his disgusting hands all over it. This was once a beautiful port city. Now he's contaminated it with his opium and his people. I don't want it." Yao turned back around, continuing on through the streets without another word, leaving Korea to stare after him in shock._

_Usually, he would have gone after his brother and pretend like nothing had happened, that's how he dealt with most of the sticky points in life after all. But instead, he remained where he was, frozen to the spot as the rain poured down on him, dripping down his nose and the ends of his hair. He remained where he was for a few minutes, contemplating the sudden change in his brother's attitude towards the city he'd once loved. At least, until his thoughts were interrupted by something small, and rather heavy, smacking into the back of his knees and making him topple over face first into a puddle on the road._

_Spitting out a mouthful of grimy rainwater, Korea pushed himself to his knees with every intention of glaring at whatever had just caused his rather embarrassing fall, and maybe throwing in a few carefully chosen words. Except that he found himself staring into dark eyes nearly identical to his own._

_The child couldn't have been more than three or four in human years. His long dark hair hung messily in tangled knots around his shoulders, and he kept his gaze trained on the cobbled stone ground as Korea looked him up and down. But the most striking feature of all were his eyebrows, thick and dark like a certain European nation Korea really had nothing against, though his brother was another matter. _

"_Oh . . . Shit . . ." Korea whispered, realization dawning on him in an instant. It couldn't be, could it? Hong Kong was a __**city**__, not a country. But then again, how often had there been a city that had changed hands, changed lifestyles, so much as this one did. This child was no coincidence, and Korea knew it just by looking at him._

"_Where's your parents ~ da ze," he asked, praying in vain that the boy would give a coherent answer that would prove him wrong, and he could go back to his everyday life like this had never happened._

_But the child shook his head, and that was answer enough for Yong-Soo. "Damn it," he muttered, standing up and uselessly rushing off his robes around the knees where they were now stained with mud, "What am I going to do?" It was a stupid question to ask himself, really, as it was accompanied by the movement of bending down to scoop the soaking wet little by up into his arms. He knew very well what he had to do, he just didn't know when he'd have to do it._

_So he carried the child back to his little villa in Hong Kong, the one China had given to him since he no longer wanted anything to do with the city. How would he react then, if he knew that the place he so despised had gained a physical embodiment? In truth, he didn't really want to find out. He washed the child, changed him into new clothes, and set about tucking him in for some probably much needed sleep, before he dared send word for his brother._

_China did not arrived until late the next morning while Korea was trying to get the small boy to speak, an effort that came with no rewards, as it was. Yao let his eyes fall on the child for only a brief moment before he turned them away again, looking pointedly at the wall, "What do you want ~ aru." It was not a question, and at it, Korea's blood ran cold._

"_This child-" he started, faltering as China turned angry dark eyes to him._

"_Should have been left in the streets," Yao finished, his gaze lacking emotion._

_Korea inhaled sharply, the horrible truth washing over him, "You . . . You knew! You knew about him and you left him to die out there, didn't you!"_

_Yao folded his arms over his chest, "You say that as if it was a bad thing," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with malice that Korea had never heard before._

"_He's your __**brother**__!"_

"_He's that bastards spawn," China snapped in reply, "As tainted as America and all the others that that opium-bitch has created." He turned and glided out the door before Korea could respond, "If you're so concerned, deal with him yourself."_

_Korea flinched as the door slammed shut, tucking the child against his chest with a strangled gasp. He'd stayed there, unable to move for a long time before he summoned up the nerve to get out ink and paper, and write to the person he'd never wanted to ask for help from._

_Yong-Soo knew that Hong Kong didn't remember that month and a half in which he'd lived solely in Korea's care, sheltered within his own city while their older brother practically waited for the child to die. After all, a month was hardly any time at all in the life of one of their kind. But he knew that he remembered the day he'd been first placed in England's waiting arms, he'd told Korea so, saying only that someone kind had looked after him before then._

_It was better that he didn't remember._

Korea yawned a bit as he entered Hong Kong's house, the same little villa, in fact, where Korea had once lived when he'd still been under his Aniki's care. For once, he hung up his coat, knowing that it was fairly late and Hong Kong would not be in the mood to go around picking up after him, especially with the events of the days they'd just lived through.

They'd both been in and out of meetings for nearly a week, Korea's boss trying to decide how closely to ally him with America, and Hong Kong having to step in as China's support now that their older brother had broken his alliance with Russia. He wondered how much longer they'd be able to get away with living together.

His mind on other matters, he was entirely surprised to find himself suddenly pressed up against the door he'd only just come through.

"Have you seen the news?" Hong Kong asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed with an emotion Korea had never seen on him before. Yong-Soo shook his head, he'd had no time to turn on the television before Hong Kong had tackled him. The city bit his lip, "The Wall," he whispered softly. "The Berlin Wall is going to fall. People on both sides are rallying around it right now with every intention of breaking it down."

"That's great!" Korea burst out, "If The Wall falls, Nihon will be all right! And-" he stopped, finally recognizing the flash of grief in Hong Kong's eyes, "Oh . . . Jin, no. It's not-" He swallowed, "You don't really think that just because of that, that we-"

"We've only been able to stay in the same house as long as that damn thing's been up," Hong Kong hissed. "It's not that I don't want it to come down, I just . . ." He drew off, leaning forward until their noses brushed, "You don't get it, do you," he whispered, the grief thick in his voice. "Even though I've told you so many times. I love you, Korea."

"Yes, I know-"

"No you don't!" Hong Kong growled, pushing the other against the door, pinning him there, "If you really, _really_, understood, you would have either told me to bugger off," Korea flinched, taking note that Hong Kong was super pissed if his English accent and slang were becoming that dominant, "Or you would have at least said it back! But no, all this time you've just holed up inside yourself, as unemotional as Yao."

Yong-Soo narrowed his eyes, anger rising in him, "Don't you dare say that to me."

"Then stop leading me on!" Hong Kong snarled, "You should know better than _anyone_ how much that hurts! Don't you get that we don't have any more time left for this game? It's either yes or no, Yong-Soo. Can't you at least give me that?"

Korea slumped in his grip, "I . . ." He shook his head, "Ye-" Whatever he had been about to say was cut off as Hong Kong pressed him up against the door again and kissed him, hard. Korea gasped, surprised by the young city's boldness, which allowed Hong Kong the chance to slip his tongue inside. The nation shuddered at the strange feeling as the younger man licked along the inside of his mouth, gently engaging his own tongue in a war for dominance. He groaned as Hong Kong inserted his knee between his legs, parting them and grinding it up against his groin. And all he could really think was, _shit_ . . .

He shivered and tried to step back as Hong Kong slipped his hands beneath he top of his robes, except that the closed and locked door was behind him. Korea jerked his head to the side, breaking their kiss and breathing hard as he spoke, "W-wait," he gasped, "I don't- I mean, I'm not sure-"

"You don't want to?" Hong Kong asked quietly, his mouth near the slightly shorter nation's ear.

"No, I mean . . . I . . ." Korea chewed on his lip, trying to find the words that wouldn't sound terribly awkward. "I, um . . ." He trailed off with a startled sound that quickly shifted into a moan. Hong Kong had moved one of his hands down from Korea's chest to the growing bulge beneath his robes, squeezing gently. He pushed the older man along the wall until his back was too a different door, which was opened only seconds before the back of Korea's legs hit the edge of the bed and caused the country to topple over backwards onto the sheets.

Korea blinked up at the other, watching with a dazed expression as Hong Kong removed his umber and crimson top. The dark haired city slipped his hand beneath Korea's blue and white robes again a moment later, causing him to snap back to his senses. "Wait," he pleaded.

Hong Kong raised an eyebrow remarkably reminiscent of England, "I was planning on going first," he stated bluntly, peeling Korea's robes off with slow and careful movements, "So stop overreacting. I'm not going to sit by and be ignored anymore. I don't want to be overshadowed by Aniki in your heart any longer." He unwound his cloth belt, sliding his pants off and tossing them onto the floor next to his shirt. His cheeks reddened slightly as he felt Korea's eyes on him, but he looked away, reaching into the bedside cabinet for the small bottle he knew was hidden there.

He popped the cap off the bottle, swirling his first two fingers through the oily gel-like substance inside. He could still feel Korea's curious eyes on him, and he leaned forward, capturing the country's lips against his own as he curved the hand around behind his back.

Yong-Soo raised a hand, pressing it against Hong Kong's chest, holding him steady as Hong Kong bit his lip and thrust the slicked middle and index finger into his entrance. Korea watched, feeling a tingling warmth seep through him somewhere near his navel as Hong Kong stretched himself. The slightly taller man's face grew slightly flushed and the nation smiled slightly, "Are you okay?" he whispered, raising his other hand to Hong Kong's chest to support him, splaying his fingers out across toned muscles. Slowly, he traced old scars, none of them anywhere near as grievous as the ones he bore himself, but there all the same. He wasn't sure when exactly he'd stopped resisting, just that he had. "We can switch positions if you'd like," he said after a moment's thought, watching the city shiver as he ran his fingers along his collar bone, "I'm probably more used to pain ~ da ze."

Hong Kong shook his head, "No, I'm fine." He hesitated, blushing a deeper shade of scarlet, "I just . . . It feels weirder than I thought it would."

Korea inhaled slowly, "Weird in a bad way? Look ~ da ze ~ you don't have to prove anything to me like this, Jin."

"No, in just, a weird way, I suppose," Hong Kong smiled. "Not good or bad, really. Just . . . Weird." A small laugh escaped him, which made Korea nearly choke on his own spit in surprise. Hong Kong _never_ laughed. Not even in front of him.

"You're crazy," Korea said finally, deciding that that was surely the cause of this strange predicament he'd gotten himself into.

Hong Kong slid his hand out from behind his back, wiping the excess lubricant on the bed sheets. He leaned forward once more, kissing along the other's neck, "Only as crazy as you are," he teased quietly. Sitting up onto his knees, his toes curling under he extended his hands back to Korea's legs to anchor himself, "I want you, Korea," he murmured, his dark eyes almost asking permission to continue. Korea, however, was too stunned to answer coherently, and simply watched as Hong Kong bit his lip and lowered himself down onto the older man's hardened member, suppressing a pained groan as he took all of it inside in one movement.

Korea drew in a shaky breath, his knuckles turning deathly white as he twisted the sheets in his fingers and threw his head back with a strangled moan on the pillow. Hong Kong shuddered at the sound, placing a hand on the Korea's stomach, over the jagged white scar from that day over fifty years ago. "I've . . . I've been in love with you for so long," he whispered, fingertips gliding over the scar, "Since that day. I want to prove that to you now." He pushed himself up with his legs, nearly whimpering at the lost as he slid himself almost fully off the nation, and lowered himself back down faster to make up for it. Korea squirmed beneath him, his breathing becoming hitched and uneven as Hong Kong repeated the movement. The city leaned forward, his fingers tangling into Korea's hair, twirling them around the long curl on his right side and making him blush furiously.

"I know I'm not a nation," he whispered, "And I never will be. But that's not what I want. It would be enough for me just to be important to you, to matter in your eyes." He leaned back, groaning audibly as he managed to hit that special bundle of nerves as he thrust himself back down again. His back arched, and he sucked in air sharply, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Jin," Korea whispered, using his human name as he reached up to run well calloused fingers across the other's chest and down to his hips, "Why would you ever think you didn't matter?" He gritted his teeth as Hong Kong continued to move above him, letting go of the last of his restraint as he hooked one leg around the city's back and used the momentum to flip them over.

Hong Kong gasped in slight surprise as his back suddenly hit the mattress, tilting his head to the side as Korea kissed him, "K-Korea-" "You're a fool," Korea hissed, biting at the other's neck as he ground into him, making him whimper and squirm. "I know you don't remember, but it was me who carried you out of the street your people had built. Not Aniki, not England."

The younger man looped his arms around Korea's shoulders, digging his nails into skin with a muffled cry as the other thrust into him again. "You-"

"Yes me," Korea muttered, "China wanted nothing to do with us after Nihon and I left him. He's only just starting to come around these past hundred years." He leaned down, trailing small kisses along the city's collarbone, "I know I'm an idiot, and that there have been many times where I've overlooked you. But you never _didn't_ matter to me, Hong Kong. Never."

Hong Kong's back arched as that place was hit again, a groan escaping him as he came onto his stomach, Korea winding a hand down to stroke him through his release. He lay back, breathing hard as the nation continued to move inside him, trailing his hands back up to pinch and tease at his nipples. "Is that really necessary?" Hong Kong asked, biting his lip to contain another embarrassing noise.

"You have awesome breasts," Korea smirked, which in turn only made Hong Kong roll his eyes, reaching up a hand to grab onto the annoyingly long curl on the side of his older brother's head.

Korea gasped, his face reddening, "T-that's cheating ~ da ze!"

The city merely smiled innocently, twisting the hair in between his fingers, "Then just come already?" He was rewarded with a admissive scowl from Korea before the older man doubled over on top of him, gripping Hong Kong's shoulders with a moan as he released hot seed inside of him. Hong Kong squirmed underneath him, a small whine drawing out from his lips at the strange feeling.

After a few moments, Korea pulled away, grabbing the end of the bedspread to wipe the mess off of Hong Kong's stomach, "You know," he began, taking notice of the flash of fear that immediately entered the other's eyes, "Earlier you said that you'd 'go first.'" He raised a teasing eyebrow, "Did that mean that we'd have to switch the second time?" Hong Kong smiled slightly, a smirk reminiscent of England's finest evil grins, "Of course," he said smoothly, sliding across the bed towards the other, "I'm the obvious Seme, I was just giving in because you were acting like such a girl."

"You are not the obvious Seme!" Korea huffed, pretending to be offended, but the end of his sentence came out as a squeal and a laugh as Hong Kong pounced on him.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Gomen, Lizzi. I feel like I have epic failed. I wrote the first part back in febuary when you requested it, and the second part before that when I still was planning this to be a bonus chapter in the first place. And the third part was written right now so I could just get it done because I need to get the next ACTUAL chapter done today too. = 3= so whatever, it's done.

For the rest of you patient kiddies, we only have three more actual chapters to go! Next chapter is the epic falling of the wall, which was mentioned here. The chapter after that is the final chapter, with muchos smut for all ya'll. And then . . . The epic epilogue. I finally figured out the last little detail for that (Ha, like I'd tell you. I love it so much, it's a secret) which works it's way wonderfully into the SEQUEL fic to this, Nation. It's not so much of a sequel though as it is in the same universe. The main pairs in it will be shifted from America/Japan and the others over to Sealand/Latvia and Russia/Prussia. But you'll quickly see that it very much is a sequel in many ways as America and Japan both have a huge part to play in it. = 3= anywho . . Go ahead and read the next chapter. *thumbs up*

Oh, and credit for Hong Kong's human name goes to Lucky and Angel in their fic Seven Little Killers. Which I hate, btw. It makes me angst to much, then it just drops off the face of the earth. *glares at it*


	29. Chapter 29

**A Little Drop Of Healing: Bigger Than Love**

America lay sleepless in his bed, his mind fogged with memories and images he had no desire to recall, but did anyways. The white chairs barely filled with black clad people in the far corner of Arlington cemetery. The flowers in hand and the ones that lay amidst the blades of still green grass. And the way it had rained. It wasn't more than a light drizzle, but it was there all the same. How could it not be? After all, his tears were the raindrops themselves on his own land.

He remembered standing shoulder to shoulder with Vincent as the eulogy was given, a single eulogy. A young man who could not have been older than Zack had been with spiky blond hair gave it, his head lowered the entire time as if he was trying very hard not to cry. There were a few more supposed schoolmates, and a neighbor or two, but otherwise, no one else came. America and Vincent had laid the folded flag in Zack's arms as they closed the coffin for the final time, and only the blond stayed with them as they watched each and every shovelful of dirt fill the grave.

"_He didn't have any parents," the young man said as they stood there, as if that offered some sort of explanation for the small attendance to the ceremony. "We were orphans, he and I. He was . . . All I had . . ."_

There had been nothing he could say to that. What could he say? That he was sorry? That it was all his fault? That if only he could have stopped this useless war sooner, it never would have happened? No. He felt that that would have only made it worse.

"_It's Cloud, isn't it?" He'd said finally, keeping his eyes trained on the pit in the ground that was slowly being filled. "It's a pretty name."_

_Cloud smiled a bit, though America could tell his heart wasn't in it, "Yeah, everyone says that. Zack named me, back at the orphanage, he was a year older than me and it was one of the first words he said when I arrived." He raised a hand to point at his silver-blond hair and his blue eyes, "Because my eyes are like the sky, and my hair was almost white as a baby." The smile faltered, "He . . . He may have said that he hated being drafted, but I know he wanted to prove himself . . . I wonder if he ever did."_

"_He was very brave," America whispered with a small nod. _

"_Brave and stupid," Cloud laughed softly. It was a cold laugh, one of someone trying their best not to break down._

Vincent had taken him home, and America had gone back to Washington. It had been almost twenty years since then. Time passed so swiftly for him sometimes, he hardly noticed it passing at all. But the memories still lingered, and he could not make them leave.

His phone rang, and he cursed into his pillow, wondering exactly who would be calling this early in the morning. He rolled over and grabbed it with a heavy sigh, bringing it up to his ear, "'Lo?"

"Alfred, do you watch TV at all anymore?" the voice was annoyed, but the blonde recognized it right away.

"I was trying to sleep, Vincent," he muttered in reply, smacking his face back down on the pillow with a groan. "And this phone number isn't so that you can bug me about some stupid TV show." Vincent sighed on the other end, "Alfred, it's not a show. Turn on your TV you idiot. The Wall-" America had swung his legs out of bed as soon as the words had left his friend's mouth, grabbing the remote from his bedside table and pushing the power button. "-The Wall is falling."

It was true. Every other station he went to depicted both West and East German's tearing the Berlin wall apart, piece by piece, flooding through the openings they created and climbing the barrier itself, straddling the graffiti covered cement and brick with triumphantly raised arms. He could hardly believe it. The Wall was falling down. "Oh . . ." He had no words to describe what he was feeling. The relief, the triumph, and the anguish at the thought of what it had taken to get this far.

"Will you go there?" Vincent asked softly.

"I should," America replied, a hand to his mouth as he watched the proceedings with glazed eyes. "I'll set up a meeting to take place there tomorrow, with _everyone_." He smiled, "You can come too, Vincent. It's best that you see it come full circle, hmm?" There was a light laugh, which once again reminded America how much his companion had changed over the years, where he had healed and America had not. Then again, mortals had so much less time to heal, it was better if they got over it sooner. "Wish I could. But then I'd have to explain to Cloud why he has to look after twenty-three screaming kids on his own then. He'd be so pissed."

"Everything's going well at the orphanage then?" the blonde asked, allowing himself to lapse into friendly conversation as if this world changing event hardly mattered.

"Well, Cloud woke up with finger-paint all over in his hair two days ago, but you know how that is," Vincent went on, and America could almost feel the smirk behind the words.

"God, I know. When England used to bring Hong Kong over when I was younger," he shuddered. "That kid was such a brat. Of course, for me it was glue. Yuck."

Vincent snorted through the phone, "I'm sure that was just boatloads of fun-"

"Thanks," America retorted sarcastically.

"Anytime," Vincent replied coolly. "Now I think you have some buddies to call, correct?"

"Yes, mom."

Arthur couldn't help the annoyed groan that escaped him when the phone rang. "Francis, phone," he growled, raising a hand to push the other away from him. A soft moan slipped out as France ignored both the warning and insistently ringing phone, grinding down against him as he worked on the buttons of England's shirt. "Francis, seriously! Stop a sec so I can get the telly!" England snapped, "It's probably about the- ah!" he gasped as the other blond managed to slip his shirt off, dipping his head down to bite at his chest. "Francis! It's probably about The Wall!"

"Oui. Which is what we are in the middle of celebrating for," France muttered, obediently drawing back with a frustrated glare at the phone.

England rolled over on the mattress and grabbed it off the dresser, "Hello?"

"God, took you long enough to answer. What the heck were you doing? Wait, scratch that, I don't want to know," Alfred laughed into the phone.

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it," England said, rolling his eyes. "It's about Berlin, isn't it? Are we going to have a meet-ah!" He twisted around, finding that France had moved behind him and had suddenly grabbed his hips and pulled his pants down to his knees. "Francis!" he hissed sternly, the thought of America hearing anything remotely like sex over the phone causing his face to redden, "Cut it out!"

"Don't want to know. Don't want to know. Don't want to know," America sang from the other side of the line, and Arthur just knew he had his eyes closed, though it would make no difference on his hearing. "Meeting tomorrow at noon, German time, at The Wall. Bye." There was a rather loud click and England found himself staring at a silent phone. He rolled his eyes again with a sigh, hanging up as well. "That was a mess. You're a right git, frog. You know that, right?"

"Oui, I know cheri," France grinned innocently before practically pouncing on the other, making England let loose a very unmanly squeal as the older nation began tickling him under the ribs.

Romano was about ready to smash the phone against the wall when it rang in his hand, making him pause and stare it, trying to smother the half-hope in his chest. "Romano here," he said, answering it after a moment.

"Ah, Romano, sorry about this. I can't seem to get a hold of Italy or Germany-"

_America_. The older of the Italian twins sighed, "Yeah, I know. I've been trying them for over an hour."

"Sorry, sorry," America apologized quickly, "I just thought you might be able to get a hold of them. I'd like for us all to meet by The Wall tomorrow at noon."

Lovino sat down on the edge of the couch where Spain was perched, his eyes glued to the television, a long gone cold cut of tea in one hand. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. He hung up before America could reply, chucking the phone across the room where it burst into pieces against the wall. Slumping down in his seat, he took the mug from Spain's hand and set it down on the small coffee table between the TV and the sofa. "We've gotta go look for them," he whispered, a faint wash of fear flowing over him as he watched the mobs of citizens swarming the Berlin Wall on the screen.

Spain didn't tear his eyes from the set, "Yeah, I know." He stood, grabbing a coat from the arm of a nearby chair and tugging Romano towards him in the same movement. He draped the coat over the other nation's shoulders, leaning forward until their foreheads touched, "Don't worry about them, Lovi. They're going to be okay." Antonio placed his hands on either side of Romano's face, cupping his cheeks, "It's over now. The Wall is down."

Romano shook his head, and for the first time in his life, Spain couldn't tell if the tears welling in the younger man's eyes were of relief, or fear.

Hong Kong was asleep when the phone rang. After all, it was already dusk where he lived, and he'd had an agonizingly long day at meetings with China's government. It was days like this when he resented his older brother most of all, and the society and life he was trapped in with his status as a mere city. He yawned and reached behind his head for the phone on the table beside the couch, finding that he couldn't sit up as Korea was sound asleep on his chest.

"Hey, Jin," America greeted slowly, using the other's human name. "Korea's there with you, right? I'm trying to get everyone together to meet at The Wall tomorrow."

"We'll be there," Hong Kong assured instantly, reclining back again and trailing a lazy hand through his sleeping sibling's hair.

"Great," the oriental nation didn't miss the relieved tone in the other's reply, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," he may be a part of China now, but Hong Kong had never been one to let his Aniki's government control him. America was as much of his brother as China was, and in his eyes, a better one at that. The blond was the only one besides England and Korea he ever let call him Jin. He would not turn down a plea for help.

America hesitated a moment, "I know it's asking a lot . . . But could you . . . I need you to call Kiku for me. Until I can be completely sure that this isn't some trap Russia's set up, I can't put him in danger by contacting him myself. Can you please-"

"Of course," Hong Kong interrupted, "It'll be risky now that China is no longer part of the Soviet Union, but I can do it. Ivan shouldn't think twice about me calling Japan."

"Thank you," Alfred breathed, "And about Yao . . ."

Hong Kong bit his lip, "He's still Communist," he informed regretfully. "I would not count on his allegiance or trust for a very long time, America."

There was silence on the other end for a few heartbeats. "That's too bad," America said finally. "But it's his decision, I suppose. And where will you stand, Jin?"

The other smiled, "Wherever I need to, America. But for now, you can count on my support."

"Awesome," Hong Kong could practically hear the grin on the nation's face. "See you tomorrow then!"

"Feliciano, get off The Wall!" Germany scolded, jumping to try and catch the other nation's ankle a second too late, Italy scrambling up onto the crumbling structure and squishing himself in between the German citizens perched there. Ludwig groaned in exasperation, hauling himself up beside him, "Feliciano, don't be an idiot. It's dangerous."

Italy merely grinned, "Ve, Ludwig," he laughed, careful to use the other's human name around the citizens of Berlin, "It's fine. The Wall is coming down, the only danger would be from falling off." He smiled, swinging his legs over onto the east side, "We can see Gilbert again soon."

Germany's shoulders hunched at this, worry clear on his face, "Feliciano-"

"He'll be fine," Italy reassured softly, reaching over and twining their fingers together, "Ivan may hurt him, yes. Scar him enough sot that the scars Gilbert has are equal to the number he has himself. But he'd never kill him."

The blonde's eyebrows furrowed together, uncertainty in his blue eyes, "How can you be so sure?"

Feliciano smiled, "I can't. I just know. I've known Ivan for a very, very long time, Ludwig. I remember when he and Gilbert were close. He's never close with anyone, even with China it was just another game to him. Gilbert will be fine. He'll come back." He leaned back where he sat, his eyes rising to the sky, "It really is beautiful, isn't it," he whispered.

Ludwig followed his gaze, "What is? The polluted air?"

Italy shook his head, "No, Doitsu, the people. The Wall falling only proves that we're powerless compared to the strength of our people. Look what they've managed to do, all on their own. They've rebuilt after our mistakes, held strong even as this thing separated them from their families, and now they're making their own future and tearing it down, brick by brick." He closed his eyes, a small smile on his features that looked almost serene, "It's things like this that make me glad I'm a nation."

The blond turned his gaze down towards the German people climbing up and over the wall they sat on. He watched as they threw their hands in the air, practically dancing at their victory on the top of the structure, yelling out loud their joy. "Yeah," he said after a long moment, "Me too."

An annoyed shout sounded behind them, and a voice cried, "Oi! Idiots one and two! Do you know how fucking worried we've been!"

Feliciano stood, swaying slightly until Germany caught hold of his legs and held him steady, "Romano!" he whooped, "Romano, come on! Look at The Wall!"

In a few moments, both Romano and Spain had managed to find a place to sit on Italy's other side, the older twin flicking Feliciano on the head, "Everyone's been trying to get a hold of you two! And you've been at this stupid place the whole time?"

"Lovi, calm-" Spain started, only to earn a glare from the other.

"Everyone's going to be here soon," Romano went on, "America has called for a meeting."

"Here?" Germany asked in disbelief, "Is that really wise?"

"It's _America_," Lovino deadpanned.

Italy had moved to stand on the bricks again, peering around for the nations that would be gathering at any moment. Germany kept an eye on him, making sure he didn't fall but otherwise trained his eyes on the east side, waiting. After a few minutes, Italy let out a loud "Woo!" of delight, and literally, much to Ludwig's alarm, launched himself off the Berlin Wall towards the west side.

"Feliciano!"

The younger nation laughed, practically bowling a very startled looking Austria over with Roderich only just barely managing to catch him. "Austria! The Wall is falling!" he squealed, hugging the aristocratic country tight.

Austria was nearly doubled over with the extra weight, but he still managed to find a place on the crumbling stones with the other nations, Italy clinging to him as he had not done since France had taken him from the other's care. "Have you seen Russia or anyone yet?" he asked, and by anyone, Germany knew he meant Hungary.

"Not yet," the blond said, "But they should be here soon. I assume America called them too." He did not voice aloud his fears that neither Hungary or Prussia would ever see this side of The Wall again.

Roderich caught his gaze, noticing the look in his eyes, "They're strong," he murmured over Italy's head on his shoulder, "They'll be all right."

"I hope so," Ludwig whispered in reply.

They watched the sun in it's slow assent in the sky in silence for a long while before they heard the last of their western allies arriving. And heard them they did, long before they caught sight of them. France and England made a ruckus that probably could have been heard for miles around as they belted out a very old, what sounded almost like it could be Latin, drinking song. Close behind them, America and Canada urged them along, trying to keep them from stumbling into innocent passerby. It wasn't surprising that the very pissed pair insisted on taking up a perch on the wall top, it wasn't however that they nearly fell right off upon doing so.

Austria, who looked absolutely mortified at their behavior was first to comment, "Are you _drunk_?" he incredulously asked a very bleary eyed France.

"Non," France replied, a rather creepy smile on his face, "I am just very, _very_ happy, ami." He promptly linked his arms through Canada's and England's in turn, beginning another ancient drinking chant that Canada mostly ignored, and England joined along with enthusiastically.

"I'm so sorry," Canada apologized, using his free hand to support America as his twin decided to stand in the middle of the group. "We had to go looking for them and found them like this at a local pub. But Alfred insisted that they had to come, so . . ."

"I could use a drink right now too," Germany commented forlornly, casting an envious look at the completely out of it England, who had yet to acknowledge anyone outside of the small bubble of space that was Canada, America, and France.

"Ludwig!" Austria exclaimed, aghast. "This is _not _the time!" Germany merely rolled his eyes before standing and slowly working his way through the other nations on the wall top to stand at America's side. Alfred smiled at him as the other blond placed a faintly trembling hand on his shoulder, a reassuring, confident smile that Ludwig hadn't seen since before the second war. "This is it then, huh?" he asked softly, "Once everyone on the east side gets here, this Iron Curtain shit is over."

"No," America whispered, too quiet for anyone but Germany to hear, "It's too late to make that barrier disappear forever. It's there to stay, and that will never change. China, Vietnam, Cuba, North Korea . . . As long as they're still 'red' nations, there will always be a threat from them. But," he nodded out towards the east side, blue eyes shining behind his glasses, "I can promise you that it's going to get a hell of a lot better, at least for a little while." He paused, pulling his bottom lip up between his teeth, "Thank you, Germany . . . For choosing to stay on this side. I know it was hard, and that it would have been so much easier for you just to keep your pact with Ivan, but . . ." Alfred smiled again, a slow, hesitant smile, "I'm glad you didn't. You helped save Kiku, and you held strong even when your brother was taken. I'm glad you were my ally."

"After all the mistakes I made, I wasn't about to make another," Ludwig said almost inaudibly. "I'm happy to be your ally, America."

America grinned, leaving it at that and looking out to the east side once more. His smile only grew broader at this, however, which made Germany whirl, hope flaring in his heart at what he'd see. And he wasn't disappointed. Spain flung his hands in the air with a cry of delight, "There's Gilbert! He's all right!"

Prussia sprinted across the expanse of ground between The Wall and the slowly forming crowd of nations behind him, scrambling up onto The Wall with an exclamation of, "West!" before Germany found himself suddenly on his back on the west side of The Wall again, the albino having tackled him to the ground from the wall's top. Italy followed suit, sobbing as he joined their little group huddle that slowly worked it's way around through a gap in The Wall to the east side.

America stayed on top of the falling structure, watching as Hungary worked her way over to them, maintaining a calm composure until Roderich was only a few paces away, at which point she promptly backed him against the bricks and collapsed into his arms, crying silently into his shoulder. Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Estonia, and Ukraine didn't draw much closer to the others, except for when Poland and Italy moved to shake hands and talk for a moment, and Lithuania gave a grateful nod in America's direction. He watched as Canada slowly approached Prussia, all but hidden fear in his eyes from their last unfortunate encounter.

There was no mistaking the tension in that particular moment, Prussia trying to force a smile, and Canada doing the same before they hesitantly each extended hands to shake. It wasn't perfect, and it was far from what they may or may not have had before The Berlin Wall went up. But in that action, America could clearly see that it could never go back to that ever again. Whatever had been between them had broken, and it was something that even time couldn't fix.

He climbed down from The Wall as a young girl with almost silver hair worked her way through the bustle of people towards him. "Natalia," he smiled.

She nodded curtly to him, "America."

"Thank you," he whispered.

Belarus either ignored the soft spoken words of gratitude, or she had not heard, and she made her way over to join her sister and Lithuania without another glance at the blond.

His eyes shifted as a tall man with ash-blond hair and bright lavender eyes emerged from the throng of overjoyed German citizens. It was almost as if a wave of silence settled over the rejoicing nations as blue met lilac for the first time since the Cuban Missile Crisis, and all movement stopped. "Hello, Alfred," Russia nodded after a moment of uneasy quiet.

"Hello, Ivan," America replied evenly. It was as if the air around them were poisoned, as no one dared to approach, and hardly anyone breathed. Until the blond took a step forward, staring directly into Russia's eyes for a long moment before he let his head fall to the taller nation's shoulder, twisting a hand into the front of the other's coat. "Ivan . . . I-" he started.

"I'm sorry," Russia finished, his voice shaking slightly. "I should have never . . ."

"It's okay," America stopped him, shaking his head. "Your eyes aren't dark anymore. We don't have to talk about it, all right? It was my fault anyways. You were there for me when my people split the land in two, and I wasn't there for you when Nicholas was killed." He looked up, a hesitant smile on his face, as he glanced around at the gathered nations again. France and Spain had gotten a hold of Prussia and had formed a spinning circle made of the three of them. Austria, Hungary, Italy, and Germany were standing off to the side together, talking in low voices, light smiles being passed between them.

Ivan blinked as England approached them suddenly, a dangerous, almost accusing look in his emerald eyes. "Where's Hong Kong?" Arthur demanded, worry clear in his voice, and with his drunken state, that was only intensified.

America glanced around the crowd, alarm flaring through him, "He's right, I don't see Jin or Korea." And now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen Kiku yet either. "Ivan . . ."

"He didn't touch them, I can assure you," Prussia said, suddenly appearing beside them and laying a hand on Russia's shoulder. "He couldn't have, he's been with me almost the whole time since your armies pulled out of Vietnam. There wouldn't have been any chance to-"

"America!" a voice sounded from the crowd, accented with that familiar English tone though it was not Arthur who had spoken.

The blond whirled, faint relief in his eyes as both Hong Kong and Korea pushed through the bustle of people towards them. "Did you have problems getting here?" he asked.

"No," Hong Kong breathed, "But America, we-"

"We can't get a hold of Nii-chan, da-ze!" Korea burst out. "We don't know where he is! He's not answering his phone and-"

"He's probably fine," Hong Kong went on, trying not to worry the blond, "But-"

America held up a hand, silencing him, "Calm down." He turned towards Russia again, "I know we should technically get something signed before I go, but I . . ."

"Go find him," Russia said with a nod, "I'll make sure my boss doesn't act on it. Just," he reached into his coat, drawing out a pocket knife, "Do this first." He flicked open the knife, pressing the blade to his palm and dragging it across, a thin line of crimson welling up in it's wake.

Without a word the knife was passed to Alfred, and he mirrored the motion, reaching out to clasp their hands together without instruction, the blood pooling together between them and dripping down onto the ground. Prussia glanced at a confused looking Hong Kong with an amused smirk, "It's how old pacts were made way back when." He tilted his palm upwards for the young city to see, a web of fine white scars crisscrossing it's surface. "The older nations, like Russia, France and I prefer to continue to use it. It's more a more permanent promise than any piece of paper."

America pulled away, a broad smile in place as he wiped the blood from his hand and pulled a handkerchief from his hand and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around it, "Thank you."

Japan had been in and out of meetings with his boss and China for the past three days, and had only heard news of The Wall through political discussions. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon when he finally made his way home, taking the longer rout through a nearby park. At this time of year, the sakura trees were just starting to change from pink flowers to green leaves, and he paused beneath the boughs shading the path to look at them. This was the time of year he enjoyed the best, the season of subtle, small changes and warm air. Of life and growth just before the leaves would begin to brown and fall.

There was a bench nearby, vacant and bathed in gold with the early dawn. He sat down on it, straightening out the small wrinkles in his formal Yucatan with glazed eyes. The Wall had fallen, so he'd heard, and he had not been there to see it. He wanted to see Germany and Italy rejoicing, and Prussia being reunited with his brother. He wanted to see England's triumphant eyes and France's drunken stupidity. And yet he'd missed all of it.

Would America have been there? He had no doubt he wouldn't have. Except that when he'd asked China about it, his brother had merely looked at him with cold, unforgiving eyes. He was trying not to let that get to him. His gaze wandered up to the flowers overhead as he tried to forget it. But the fact that this was the time of year that the pink blossoms were starting to wither and dry, at the same time The Wall was falling thousands of miles away, unnerved him immensely. He'd always been one to take the smallest details too seriously, and this was just one more thing that didn't sit right with him.

His fingers clenched into the folds of his Yucatan above his knees, and he stood, pacing towards the base of the tree to stare directly up into the dying flora high above. "Kami, you bring him back to me," he whispered through clenched teeth, closing his eyes. "I'm tired of war, I'm tired of politics and the running around in endless circles just to please my boss. All I want is just a little piece of mortality, of _normalcy_, is that so much to ask for?" Opening his eyes again, he glared up at the silent branches high above, "No, of course it is. It always is." He sighed, his shoulders slumping with defeat as he let his head fall against the broad trunk of the tree. "It always is . . ."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked in perfect Japanese.

Kiku smiled to himself, letting his eyes roam upwards at the dull, dying pink of the cherry blossoms, "Hai," he replied, "I suppose it is."

"Do you like them? The sakura trees I mean," the voice went on.

The nation slowly shook his head, not turning to face the speaker, "As much as anyone else, I suppose. But there are so many other flowers in the world to enjoy, it would be selfish of me to like only this one, wouldn't it." He allowed his eyes to fall closed again, his mind wandering. Yes, there were so many, many flowers.

There was the cornflower, the blossom given in a small bouquet to a young Italy by a blushing Holy Roman Empire, and a millennia later, from Italy to Germany as their fates were unknowingly once more intertwined.

There was the rose, France's long time symbol of his love, passed back and forth between he and England for centuries as their bond wavered and fell, and then remade itself all over again, only for the process to be repeated.

There was the sunflower that Russia had first held in his hands so many years ago, a gift from Prussia when they first met. It would be forgotten with the centuries that passed, only the faint memory of it's color and warmth remaining as the icy nation tried to recreate that feeling with countless others, China included.

And then there was-

"Do you like chrysanthemums?" the voice asked, close enough to his ear that he could feel the speaker's breath on the back of his neck, and he shivered. His eyes snapped open as soft golden flower petals tickled under his chin, and he drew in a shaky, shocked breath. The person standing just behind him took a good number of steps backwards as Japan took the flower, the sound of his footfalls clear in the lifeless calm of morning. "They're your favorite, right? Like your name?"

Kiku bit his lip, shaking his head furiously as hot tears welled up in his eyes. _No, no, no . . . This couldn't be real. There was no way . . ._ He turned slowly on the spot, almost too afraid to look in case he was really dreaming a cruel, cruel dream. The flower slipped from his fingers, falling slowly to the ground as his eyes met brilliant blue, "A-America-san," he breathed.

Alfred smiled, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels, looking for all the world as if he'd only been away for a few days, rather than nearly thirty years. "Hey," he said softly, "Did'ja miss me?"

Japan's fingers curled against his palms, and for half a second America thought he was going to punch him. But instead, Kiku shook his head fiercely, tears falling off his cheeks glinting silver-gold with the sunrise as he rushed forward, arms wrapping tight around the other nation with a sob, America letting out a huff of faint surprise as he was nearly bowled over. "Baka . . ." Japan murmured against the blonde's chest, "Baka! Of course I missed you! How could I not? I-" he drew off with a strangled, choked cry, burying his face against Alfred's chest.

"I know," America whispered, holding Kiku tight in his arms, "I love you too."

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Thank you all for being such good little patient kiddies while I sorted out my senioritus and end of the season Supernatural fangirling and whatnot. (Don't look at me like that, it happens every year at this time! I was in a panic!) I'm most looking forward to writing the epilogue, let me tell you, I finally figured out the last few details for that bologna, so hopefully it'll be very heart wrenching and cute. :3

And btw, the reason that Prussia and Mattie are basically broken up, and Gilbo is with Ivan now is because my upcoming fic, Nation, is actually a sequel to this one. So it had to be done. Sorry Russia/China and Prussia/Canada fans. It had to be. *thumbs up* I'm trying to finish this patootie up so I can go on my usual Summer Hiatus and work on my novel, but I'm already pressed for finding time to do so. D: next chapter's almost done tho, no worries.

REVIEW! You too, Lizzi, (insert epic glarage here) even though we're bestest bestest buds and all, make my review count go up. O_O *stares awkwardly at you* and the same goes for you, Chibi-chan.


End file.
